


Grunnings: Covert Operations

by TheHonorableJudgeNovak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Male Friendship, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 11:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11759094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHonorableJudgeNovak/pseuds/TheHonorableJudgeNovak
Summary: Apparently, Draco's single night out was enough to earn him his father's wrath for a lifetime. Only something this appalling, this dreadful, would mitigate the situation: going 'undercover' for a reality television program to see how their newly acquired company Grunnings actually works. Against his better judgment, Draco goes undercover as Thomas Felton and meets, among other people, an intriguing and unreadable worker named Harry.





	1. Undercover

**Author's Note:**

> At the risk of publishing an unfinished story, I've made this public to get some feedback on whether anyone also thinks a world like this is interesting. This has been sitting in my computer for a while, back when I actually used to watch Undercover Boss. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

For the _publicity_ , his father had said. Apparently, Draco's single night out- or perhaps it was the whole Easter Holiday debacle -was enough to earn him his father's wrath for a lifetime. Only something this appalling, this dreadful, would mitigate the situation. And to think, his summer holiday would be eaten up by this sad endeavor. 

Draco sneered at the thought of the 'reality television show.' Really. He had absolutely no desire to interact with the peons below him. Hell, no. Those people were poor because of bad choices and bad blood. It was not _his_ duty to be an enabler to their laziness. They should get degrees, get an education, if things were so bad. Participate in the goddamned community! Draco crossed his arms and tried to hide his irritation from the cameras focused on him. He didn't want to do this. He hated this.

Draco could proudly give the history of the Malfoy family were he asked. It had existed for centuries even before Wiltshire Manor was built. The Malfoys were an old and proud French family, and his immediate family the only ones left with the name. Lip curling, Draco lamented to himself about the nouveau riche cropping up everywhere; the Malfoy name was slowly fading from public eye and therefore public recognition. Of course, that meant that Draco's life wasn't as scrutinized as other billionaires' sons, but it also meant that Lucius Malfoy was constantly unhappy. Which, by the simplest transitive law, meant Draco would be unhappy.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy, and this is my son, Draco," Lucius introduced them both to the cameras with a fancy wave of his hand. "We're a very old, very proud family, and Grunnings is one of the several companies I run. Draco will be taking it over shortly, and he agrees this would be a good opportunity to get to know the company and the hard-working people behind its success," he said, all the while leading the cameras into the house. His father would give them a grand tour of the house, and Draco just had to show up intermittently and appear as if he cared. 

He sneered at the cameras when they were focused elsewhere and sneered at the giant microphone. It failed to satisfy him. Earlier, the cameramen had him and his father toss a baseball back and forth for the benefit of the audience. His father had the butler rush to the department store at five in the morning to buy a pair of baseball gloves for that scene. Then they had a short snippet of Draco playing the piano, his father making breakfast (now that was laughable), and his mother kissing both men on their cheeks before she climbed into her bright red car off-camera. Draco didn't mind the fake scenes. He already knew he was different, and most importantly _better_ than the average twenty-something-year-old.

Only once the camera crew was gone did Lucius' façade fall. "Do not fail me. I swear, Draco, this is your last chance. I will be overseeing the end of all of this, so do not get too carried away," Lucius lectured his son.

Draco waved his hand casually. "Whatever. It's only for a summer."

"Good enough, Draco. Maybe you'll learn something."

>°))))彡

Draco didn't yet have his own office, so the camera crew suggested he use his father's. With a smirk, because his father couldn't protest the idea without appearing callous, Draco took a seat on the expensive chair and experimentally rested his feet on the leather-topped desk.

"Sir, we'll be filming soon. Maybe you'll want to, er, fix yourself up."

Rolling his eyes, Draco settled his feet on the floor and smoothed out his suit. He leaned back in the chair, ready to give his spiel.

"Okay, in three, two," One.

Draco read from the cue cards. His father crafted the script with the producers and writers on the show, but Draco had the final say. After all, he was the one reading it aloud for the cameras.

"My name is Draco Malfoy, and I will be taking over as Chief Executive Officer of the Grunnings Corporation someday, perhaps once I finish my studies at Oxford. The history of this company is a long one. A man named E. E. Grunnings started the company in the early thirties with electric drills, and has been manufacturing and selling drills ever since. It started to lose money, and though I was maybe eleven at the time, I told my father , 'I bet you can save them.' So now, more than a decade later, we've bought out the company, and we're ready to make some changes."

"Cut!"

Draco flopped back into the chair with a loud sigh. "What's wrong?"

"Mr. Malfoy, you cannot just make stuff up. The audience will roll their eyes and scoff at the thought of an eleven year old making business decisions. And 'bought out'? That's too aggressive for the image we're trying to project. Why don't you just stick to the script?"

"Listen. I'm going to do this my way, or we're doing nothing at all. I'm not lying about anything. Moreover, if the audience is so smart, they will know that we were not just _given_  the damn company. We stole it, and I'm damn proud of it!"

A cameraman or two suppressed their chuckles, but the sound guy openly snorted.

"Whatever, let's just keep rolling. You can redo that segment later."

Draco cleared his throat and assumed his regal position with his shoulders back and head tilted upward.

"Take two!"

"What I'm specifically doing this for is, well, to see how Grunnings works now and how to improve it for the future. It's a new company to us; it's like adopting a child and trying to see, not necessarily how to fix him, but how to help him develop into the best he can be. That's what I'm doing here.

"I'm doing this, instead of my father, because he is the face of the company. Everyone who works in the company knows what he looks like. I've mostly stayed under the radar." Until a month ago, but no one remembered that debacle except his father. "Moreover, I'm going to be taking over this branch as managing director in the near future anyway. More than he, _I_ need to get to know Grunnings." And maybe change the name, Draco thought with a mental wince.

>°))))彡

Draco thought he sounded much more confident than he felt.

He and his father were sitting in the man's secondary home office. Usually, his father would take the swivel leather chair behind the walnut desk and Draco would sit as a visitor, but because they had to make an impression, he found both of them on the couch instead.

The cameras followed them in.

"So, do you think you're ready, son?"

Draco would have scoffed at the tone and the ridiculous term if it hadn't taken him by surprise. Son? His father never called him that. "Yes, I think I've prepared well enough for this. I'm a bit nervous, though, since you're usually the one out there, talking to the franchisees and the managers." Laughing at this point wasn't in the script, but Draco was sorely tempted to do so. He couldn't imagine his father inconveniencing himself by going out to actually meet the people who worked beneath him.

"Well, I think you're ready as well. Make sure to come back with some insights from the workers."

"That's exactly why I'm here. So, _Dad_ , the next time I see you, I might be a new man." Draco stood up and held his right hand out for the handshake that was expected of him. Instead, he felt two strong arms wrap around him. Shocked, he repeated the gesture, hesitantly putting his hand on his father's back. When the man didn't immediately pull away, Draco strengthened his grip and put his other arm around.

"Cut! Good job, you two."

Too soon, the hug was over, and the man was pulling away.

"It's a very good thing you were never interested in acting, Draco," his father sneered.

Draco couldn't let on that the words stung. He sneered in almost exact replication, "You're so good at it, I wonder why you couldn't do this yourself. You would just have to walk into a store without strutting, and they'd never recognize you," Draco shot back. "Ow!" He whined when his father's open hand lightly slapped the back of his head. Glaring at the man, he rubbed the spot. It didn't actually hurt, but it was the indignity of the thing!

>°))))彡

Draco's plastered smile was becoming tiresome. "I want to be able to work with these people and know the company, inside and out."

He sorely wanted to massaged his cheeks. "A goal I've set for myself is to expand the company. We have quite a few locations, but none outside of the United Kingdom. I'm especially looking forward to putting a warehouse in France."

These damn cue cards looked like something written by a primary-school child. "Nervous? I'm not nervous, I've been good at everything I've tried thus far. I'm bright, what can I say?"

"Cut. Mr. Malfoy, please affect some semblance of humility? Just a bit?"

"Fine," he said, stretching. It felt like he'd been in the office for hours, doing nothing but sitting and talking at a wall of boredom.

"Take sixteen," the director said wearily.

"I'm not too nervous. Thankfully, I'm young and good at picking things up. I mean, there's always the chance that I'll encounter something beyond my grasp, but there's a reason I'm a Malfoy. We work hard."

A man behind the camera raised a cue card. Okay, so this was just routine stuff now. "Undercover, I'll be known as Thomas Felton-"

"Cut. Tom, the name is Tom."

"No. Allow me to take a dignified name," Draco insisted, "and I'll read the rest of the cue card as it is." It was probably tempting, since Draco was being so difficult, but the man shook his head.

"Do it again, with Tom. Action!"

Draco cleared his throat. "Undercover, I'll be posing as Thomas-"

"Try saying it. Maybe you'd like the name."

"No, I will not go by such a base name. _Tom_ is too simple."

The director smirked. "Fine. Keep rolling, and Draco, read the rest of the lines."

"Ahem. I'll be posing as Thomas Felton, a recent graduate unable to find work. My coworkers will be told that we're filming a documentary on how the recession has affected people from different walks of life."

"Good, good, thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy," the director said with slumping shoulders. Draco thought that at least if the rest of this was terribly boring, he'd have the fun of ruining the director's time.

"My pleasure!" he answered brightly. The assistant cameraman snorted.

>°))))彡

Regretfully, platinum blond hair was not all that common and tended to stick out. It was with only great effort and a touch of Valium that the hairstylist was able to get Draco calm enough to dye his hair a deep brown. Worst of all, the director had it all on camera. Draco's small goatee, grown out for the occasion, and even his eyebrows, were dyed brown. There was no beautiful silver shine, only a dull, dirty muck.

At least, that's what Draco called it when he complained up and down the manor about his makeover. " _And_ , my stubble is _itchy_. I lie on my side, and I can hear it! _I can hear it_ , scratching against my pillow. It is the most disgusting sound, and I hear it inside my head. Mother, are you _listening_ to me?!"

"Yes, yes, dragon, my sweet. It'll be over soon, so drink your tea."

"My tea? There are more important things than my effing tea! I'll have you know, I have been clean-shaven for years, and for good reason!"

Narcissa merely nodded to herself, much too engaged in whatever magazine held her attention. "Tell your father," she offered uselessly.

Huffing, Draco stormed from the sitting room towards his wing of the house. He was stopped short by the mirror in the hallway, however, and he could only stare mournfully at his now brunet head and scraggly chin. He sniffed. This whole thing was a bad idea from the start.

>°))))彡

"Just one day, Mr. Malfoy. Your first appointment is at the Surrey location. We've told the manager there that you're helping us film a documentary about recent graduates entering the workforce."

"I'm not old enough to have graduated," he reminded the man giving him instructions.

The man waved a hand dismissively. "They won't be able to tell. Just be charming, and try to learn something you can reference later when you have to give something back."

"Give something back," Draco muttered, "What a load. It's rather counter-intuitive to force me to make changes, isn't it? What if everything's working fine, what then?"

"Then we'll find personal sob-stories, and you can give vacations to them, alright?"

Draco could tell the man was getting impatient. "Whatever. Let your boss know I hate the motel in which he has me staying. It is simply repulsive." It would be a _miracle_ if he survived this ordeal.

>°))))彡

Now, Harry was having a completely different kind of day. He had no idea what kind of miracle it would take to tolerate the stranger he would meet that day. In fact, he didn't believe in miracles or fairy tales at all. As a young child, he had fantasies he would reenact in his mind of his parents whisking him away. He'd had the opportunity to leave the Durlseys once and for all, but like many things in his life, it all fell apart. Shortly after that, he'd had a vivid dream of a gargantuan man- who looked oddly like the company driver -with a letter of acceptance to a school of magic. He focused on his imaginary world whenever he could. It was the glimmer of hope in his otherwise dreary situation.

He still didn't believe there was any such thing, but nowadays he tried not to let the disappointment get to him when he woke up and he was still living his mundane life. All adults had to leave their childish fantasies behind sometime. He just had to reconcile himself with the fact that he would never receive that letter, that he was never so special, that miracles simply didn't happen for people like him.

"Boy!"

Harry sat up in his cot, wondering why he hadn't woken up naturally. He groggily searched for his glasses, surprised by the darkness of the sky through his window. It was summer, surely there was no reason to be up so early?

"Boy, you'll make us late!"

Late? But he hadn't even made breakfast yet. He shoved his round glasses onto the bridge of his nose and stumbled into opening his door.

"Uncle Vernon?" He looked down the staircase to see his uncle already dressed in the foyer.

"There's a camera crew coming to the company today, so I'll have none of your foolishness. It's a new show that'll be on the telly. We have to be there early!"

Harry groaned. "You never said-"

"I have other things to worry about than you, Potter. Now hurry up, because I am leaving in five minutes, with or without you." With those harsh words, he stuffed a donut into his mouth and left to gather his things.

"Five minutes…" Harry grumbled to himself. Hardly enough time to do anything. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, ignoring the reflection in the mirror. He knew his hair was unkempt and his face thin; he neither needed nor wanted to see it. He gathered his clothing and slipped on his threadbare slacks and blue shirt uniform, stuffing his feet into a pair of old work boots.

HONK-HONK!

Frustrated, Harry flew down the stairs, grabbed a belt from the cupboard under the stairs, and dashed out the door without making a lunch for himself.

"Took you long enough," Uncle Vernon muttered as Harry buckled himself in. He refrained from responding since any reply would have been laced with exasperation. He still had a minute or two left!

After a long silence of driving down the roads, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat.

"What'll happen is, I'm going to assign this Tom fellow to the warehouse. You will not screw this up for me. If he asks about me, tell him I'm the best boss you've ever had. If he slacks off, you be the hard-ass and get him back to working, understood?"

Harry shrugged. It didn't sound any different from the other times he had to pick up the slack for his uncle.

"Understood?" the man asked again, this time glaring over at Harry around his road-checks. At least Harry could say the man was a safe enough driver.

"Yeah, I get it. Make you look good for the cameras, and make him want to work at Grunnings."

It would be a hard task, Harry knew, because even _he_ didn't want to work for Grunnings.

"None of your cheek either!" the man rebuked.

"Of course not, Uncle." It seems the man was trying to determine if Harry's tone was sarcastic because the man narrowed his eyes, glanced at Harry, and slowly returned his attention to the road.

Harry was surprised to note that this was the first civil conversation they'd had in the past three or so years of carpooling. Usually it was silence punctuated by the occasional gripe against Harry's tardiness, his sloppiness, or his all-around unworthiness. 

It was strange. "Tom's his name?"

Vernon grunted.

"Sounds like a nice fellow."

"Recent grad, probably doesn't have an idea how the real world works," his uncle grumbled. He side-eyed Harry. "Like you, thinking a college degree'll get you anything." He harrumphed. "Worked my way up with good old-fashioned hard work, I did. Not like you ragamuffins these days, with your _research_ and your _internships_."

Harry bit his lip in an attempt to keep his thoughts to himself. He swallowed down his bitterness and his protests, instead reciting, "Of course, Uncle Vernon."

Who knew, maybe this Tom would be a welcome breath of fresh air to the Grunnings distribution center. Maybe a recent grad could commiserate with Harry about the tough economy. Who knew what could happen?


	2. Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco can at least say he's trying. It's not his fault the operations at Grunnings are so chaotic and counter-intuitive. Regardless, he wondered when Harry's patience would run out, because he'd certainly used up everyone else's.

**Surrey**

"I'm here in Surrey at a local office building for Grunnings. Up top is sales and management, but on the ground floor, we have shipping from the warehouse. It isn't the very beginning of the process, but it is a very important part." Yegads, he was so tired of throwing out these uninspired lines. He didn't care for the warehouses. The warehouses and distribution centers, as far as he was concerned, were unnecessary middlemen. The company would probably do better without and then use the money elsewhere.

He walked into the high-ceilinged warehouse, allowing himself to gape at the impossibly tall metal shelves lined with cardboard boxes. The cameras would appreciate it, and it hid the yawn he finally got the chance to let out.

There were a few people already hard at work, loading and unloading carts even though it was barely seven in the morning. Each of them, taking turns in an oddly coordinated fashion, snuck a glance at him and the cameras and then went right back to work. Where was he supposed to go? Since the cameramen weren't about to step out and help him, Draco walked up to a gaggle of female workers assessing a shipment of cardboard boxes or something. "Excuse me, is Mr. Vernon Dursley around?"

One woman rolled her eyes. "Oh god, not Dursley."

Another, "Why're you looking for him?"

Ah, now to give his rehearsed speech. "We're taping a documentary about recent graduates entering the workforce at entry-level jobs, and Mr. Dursley is supposed to show me around and tell me what to do."

"Ooh, we're gonna be on the telly?" the second woman exclaimed. Another worker, a man with graying yet still predominantly brown hair, stepped forward. Draco wondered if this was Mr. Dursley. Looking him up and down, Draco decided the man certainly did not look like the director of the location.

"You best look for Harry. I bet he knows what's going on," the man said helpfully. The women nodded vigorously in agreement. It seemed they all liked this Harry person.

Draco sounded the name out. "Harry?" So simple, so common.

"Yep?"

And yet, when he turned around to find the source of the voice...he wasn't too surprised. The blue uniform did little for the pale man's complexion and stature. He wore a blue lanyard attached to an old ID card which probably needed another go in a laminator. He looked in his late twenties, maybe a few years older than Draco himself, but had nothing to brag about in the height or muscle department. He was your average lower middle class working man, complete with the under-eye bags.

"Hello, I'm Thomas Felton, and I'm working here for the day," Draco introduced himself with a hand out for the customary handshake.

"Ah, so you're the new guy," this Harry said more to himself. He wiped his dirty hands on a rag tied to his belt. Draco yanked back his proffered hand at the appearance of the other man's grubby fingers before he realized he had done so. "Mr. Dursley mentioned that this would be happening today," Harry continued, ignoring the snub.

Draco could see the other workers nod to themselves in approval, as if assured by Harry's knowledge of all things happening in the warehouse. A frown made its way to the man's face, and he whirled onto the gaggle of workers. "C'mon now, get back to work, don't ogle the new kid!" Immediately, the gawking warehouse workers went back to their stations and resumed their labor, occasionally giving the cameramen a glance or two.

The man reached his hand out for that handshake, but Draco could only stare at the dirt under those chipped nails and the rough appearance of that skin. Hesitantly, the man pulled the offered hand back. That was the second snub, and neither time had Draco really intended to offend the man. Thankfully, the man ignored it and talked about their agenda for the day. "Er, well, Tom, I'll be training and watching you. We'll be working with inventory, and if that goes well, you can continue doing that for the morning. If not, you can come with me to make some deliveries."

"You don't have a dedicated driver?" Draco wanted to do as little as possible. Also, here was an opportunity to make some needed changes. Hire someone to do deliveries, easy fix!

"Hagrid's on medical leave, so I've had to take on his duties until he recovers."

"Instead of hiring a temporary driver?" Surely, Harry's normal duties would suffer from having to take on the slack left by this Hagrid.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not exactly been noticed by the higher-ups, and we've agreed to keep it that way. Wouldn't want Hagrid to get a point." A point? "Anyway, at least it means you'll get to see a variety of jobs."

What rotten luck, Draco thought to himself. Now he'd have to do two ridiculous jobs. "I'm not working with Mr. Dursley at all?"

The man winced. "No, I've been instructed that you're to work down here for now. Later, Mr. Dursley might take you for a tour upstairs.

Draco didn't like that much at all. "Alright then, show me what to do."

The man- Harry, Draco reminded himself -nodded with a smile and gestured for him to follow toward the back of the warehouse.

"Okay, so what do you think is the most important aspect of a job in the warehouse?" Harry asked him, gesturing to the high shelves and heavy machinery.

Draco ran his education through his brain. He would be running this company, and he these kind of things should have been instinctual. With false confidence, he asserted, "efficiency."

"Wrong."

As soon as Harry turned his back, Draco stuck a tongue out at him. Oops, there were cameras around. He had forgotten.

Harry turned back to him and offered him a clipboard. "Safety." He added a pen to the top of the clipboard and started walking away, though he continued to talk. "Don't stand under anything that looks precarious. If your muscles are hurting, take a breather. Drink plenty of water. Don't play with the conveyor belts. When I was younger, I saw a lady's hair get caught. Took a bit of scalp too."

Draco faltered at the mental image. His health was in danger? He never signed up for that!

"Seeing as you thought you'd be in the office and you're here instead, I think we'll start you slow. No forklift, no crazy goals. At least, not yet."

"What do you mean?" Crazy goals?

"You'll see."

Draco did see. The warehouse was far bigger than he had anticipated; aisles upon aisles of cold, dark merchandise greeted him, minute after minute. Harry had given him a list of things to retrieve from the shelves. Okay, not that bad, right? He moseyed on down an aisle and looked through his list, hoping something was in this aisle. Yes, towards the bottom. It was his luck that the drills he was searching for were at eye level. Gleefully, he retrieved the drill and walked his way back to the packing area as Harry had told him.

It was chaotic. People speed-walking everywhere; the loud noise of machinery and tape and conveyor belts assaulted his sensitive ears. Finally, he caught sight of Harry.

"I'm sorry, but it's Grunnings regulation," the man said, his brow knit. Talking to an older man, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth and sighed. "I know the work is hard," he paused, "but if you meet even seventy-five percent of your goal, I won't let the boss mark down a point." There it is, talking about 'a point' again. Draco should really have asked what the deal was with those 'points.'

The wrinkly balding man to whom Harry was speaking gave him a mighty thankful look and nodded. "Thanks, Harry. You won't be disappointed!" The man resumed his work with a great vigor Draco would have never expected from such an old man.

Draco stepped up to Harry and cleared his throat. "So I found one of the things-"

"One?" Harry asked, looking at the list. "But that's not right," he said, looking at the list and at the drill Draco had in his hand.

"Oh, it's on the bottom. Right there, see?" This Harry was blind. Draco could do this job. A _monkey_ could do this job.

Harry shook his head. "No, you need to go in order. Start at the first one. And you need to go quicker. Is that all you've done since I left?"

Draco scowled. It had only been a few minutes!

"Well, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. Try to go as fast as you can, though. We're short-handed today as it is."

Pft. Yeah right. It's not like he needed the money or the experience. "How often are you guys short-handed? Do you ever have to work late, work extra hours? Hey, how about I do whatever you're doing?" he asked, following Harry to the packers.

"No," Harry immediately shot him down. He paused for a second and then conceded, "You can try this, though. You take the drill and you wrap it in this stuff," Harry held up some plastic wrap, "and put it in a box. A cozy box, mind you. We don't want it rattling around."

Draco could do that. How difficult could it be?

An hour later, Harry came back. Draco was leisurely wrapping the drills all nice and presentable-looking and laying them gently into their boxes. He ignored Harry's frown, and even ignored the man when he took a previously packed box and shook it. He was dismayed to hear some thudding. Draco didn't start paying attention until Harry removed every box Draco had packed for the last hour and set it by another worker who was packing drills. What? What did he think he was doing? Harry took a tool from his pocket and sliced open box after box and had a few words with that other worker, who was looking incensed and ready to make a fuss. Draco wasn't sure how, but Harry managed to calm him down to where the man started working again, fixing Draco's mistakes.

Approaching Draco, he said, "You know what? Maybe you should just follow me."

…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

Harry was more than uncomfortable talking about the poor new worker in front of the cameras, but apparently it was necessary. "Tom… probably needs more time to get used to the job. Way more than one day. No offense to him, but if I didn't know better, I'd say he never worked a day in his life. And he'd do much better if he put his mind to work instead of asking me about myself." He paused and glanced at the young cameraman. "Is that good enough?"

The man didn't look satisfied, probably because he wanted to film someone more interesting or someone with more to say about the new guy. Harry was sorry he couldn't provide anything better than the lackluster comments he had for Tom, but he could do little about it when he had other things to worry about.

He went back to work, but still had to avoid nosy questions and half-suggestive inquiries spilling from Tom. What other jobs have you had? Did you graduate from uni? Does your salary cover all your expenses? How do you live? Do you have a family? They were all so invasive. On the other hand, having the other man talk his ear off was infinitely better than getting behind in work due to his ineptitude.

But when Tom was finished asking about Harry's personal life, he moved on to asking about his opinion of the company. Of course, Harry stuck to neutrality or positivity. He wouldn't be fired for complaining about Grunnings or his uncle for all the world to see. Nope, no way.

 …ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

Draco watched as Harry nodded his thanks to the cameraman and then was interrupted by another worker frantically waving at a clipboard. Harry put a hand on the man's shoulder and started a dialogue.

Draco sidled up to the cameraman. "Why was this guy picked? He's quiet as a rock. He won't say anything. At this rate, he won't be getting anything," Draco complained quietly, making sure his voice was too low for Harry or anyone else to hear. Already, he was having trouble and it wasn't even his fault.

The cameraman ignored him, but his assistant shrugged and said, "We didn't pick him. A fellow named Vernon Dursley was the one the producers wanted. Apparently the man is in straits, with an orphaned nephew and an infirm sister. His son might be disabled too. Maybe ask about Dursley, and we'll see if we can work with him in the afternoon."

"Fine, I'll try that." Slumped, Draco sauntered back toward the industrial shelves and leaned against a brick wall next to a water station. To his dismay, it was empty and the mineral deposits coating the inside suggested that the last time it had been filled was long ago, and it was with tap water. Already, it was getting too warm in the warehouse, and yet every water station he had seen was empty or missing cups. It was deplorable, and something he could address in the future. His attention was caught by Harry walking toward him. The previously frenetic worker was now calmly nodding to himself as he left Harry to move empty boxes. A symbol of futility, if Draco had ever seen one.

Draco sidled up to Harry who was still moving around those boxes. "There's no water here, you know? Whose job is it to refill these things?"

Harry paused in his work and looked just as irritated at the empty stations as Draco was. "The office manager. But even though I've told him to reorder some new bottles, he still hasn't gotten back to me."

Draco sniffed. "And you said safety is the highest priority?" he suggested bitterly.

Harry shook his head in frustration. "It should be. Sad to say, some people think the bottom line is more important."

"So Dursley's your boss?"

"When did I say the manager was Dursley?"

"You didn't."

"Oh," Harry said, going back to the boxes. "Erm, can we keep that between us?" Harry obstinately avoided eye contact no matter how intensely Draco was looking at him.

Draco smirked. "Oh, you mean the fact that your manager Dursley can't be arsed to provide his warehouse workers with safe working conditions?"

"Mhm," Harry intoned in the affirmative without breaking his rhythm, moving empty boxes two at a time.

"What's he like, anyway?"

At that, Harry hesitated. "He's, well, Mr. Dursley's a good worker. Expects a lot out of us," Harry said. It was a safe response. It sounded like regretful praise. As if Harry didn't like the man but couldn't ignore his good qualities. Or that the man had no good qualities and Harry had to fish to find them. Draco wasn't quite sure yet which was the case, but was heavily leaning toward the latter.

Draco wondered how Dursley could be considered such a good employee if he wasn't around at all. They'd been at it for four hours now and had yet to take a real break or to see this elusive Mr. Dursley. For once, Draco was thankful the cameras were around. At least they forced him to take occasional breaks to talk about how he was _feeling,_ how terrible he was at the job, and how close he'd gotten to the workers.

"Isn't it time for lunch yet?" he finally asked. He had wanted to ask hours ago, but asking the question at nine in the morning would have been utterly stupid.

"What time is it?" Harry asked, not sparing Draco much attention. It was like the man was babysitting him.

"Ten past eleven."

"What!"

Finally, some emotion from him. Maybe he _was_ human. Well, time for lunch, Draco eagerly thought.

"We gotta make some deliveries. C'mon, Tom, you're going to help me."

Ugh. He didn't mention the time so that they could work another _job_. He wanted a snack or a sandwich or something. His rowing coach recommended he eat three moderate meals with snacks in between. This schedule was going to throw off his bodily rhythms. "And lunch?" he suggested at the very least.

"We can stop at Macky-D's, if you want," Harry allowed.

"You mean Placcy-D's?" Draco sneered, thinking of the plastic food found there. He hoped they weren't planning on driving through; although he'd had his share of fast-food fare, he balked at driving through a restaurant instead of sitting down at a table.

Harry shrugged and started walking out the warehouse. "It's that or nothing."

Reluctantly, Draco followed him to a large white van. He was amused to see that the driver's seat was so incredibly low that Harry had to spend quite a while adjusting it to a manageable height. Even with the adjustments, the short man still had to grab a pillow from the back for himself. Draco snickered, comparing the tiny man to the enormous van.

"We'll be following from our car, so don't say anything too interesting, kay Tom?" cameraman number one hollered at him as Draco climbed into the passenger side. He waved his hand dismissively in response as he was too busy trying to pull himself up. The step was much higher in this vehicle than others in which he'd been.

"Who drove this thing, a giant?" Draco asked once they were both buckled in. At least his seat didn't need any adjusting.

Harry seemed to smile to himself. "Might as well be. Hagrid's a huge fellow," he said fondly, "but the gentlest guy you'll ever meet."

True to his word, Harry drove them to the nearest McDonald's and expertly parked the hulking van between two tiny cars. "Okay, I'll wait for you here. We have maybe twenty minutes before we really need to worry about time."

Draco eyed the man. "Aren't you going to eat something?" Harry was thin, much like some of the girls with whom Draco had grown up. He was thinking specifically of one Ms. Parkinson, not Ms. Bulstrode…

"No, not hungry."

That, Draco could tell, was a downright lie. The man didn't even try to look him in the eye. "Well, cameras aren't around. Britain's not going to see you. Why won't you eat?"

Harry muttered something, but Draco couldn't even catch a syllable. "I can't understand a word you're saying."

Harry sighed. "Just go get your food before your posse gets worried."

He was just trying to be nice! Draco hmphed to himself and made his way to the fast-food restaurant without closing the vehicle's door behind himself. The ordering and getting of the food was so quick that Draco was amazed. He knew it was termed 'fast-food,' but until he was waiting on it so he could leave, had not really understood it.

When he finally climbed back into the van, he was met with the gurgling of a hungry stomach from within the vehicle. Draco rolled his eyes. "Here." He pulled out a packet of chips. He ordered an extra in case Harry changed his mind about eating. After the drama with Pansy, Draco didn't think he could handle letting another person starve himself.

"I can't pay you back," the man answered without taking the packet. His mouth moved just the slightest bit, and Draco could tell he was salivating.

"No need. Let's go, didn't you say we had a schedule to keep?"

Harry nodded and took the chips. He put the hot snack between his legs, and Draco could see that the only reason the heat wasn't bothering the man was because there was so much extra fabric composing his trousers.

As they drove, Harry would occasionally take a chip and let it hang from his mouth. It was quite disgusting, as the man would continue driving and use his tongue to maneuver the entire thing into his mouth.

Draco made a concerted effort to eat his hamburger daintily and with a serviette on his lap to catch any crumbs. After shuddering at Harry's abominable manners, Draco decided to distract him from eating (at least while he was driving). "So, Harry, how long have you been working for Grunnings?"

"I started part-time at fourteen in another department. So maybe eight years?"

Draco paused. "So you're what, twenty-two?"

"Almost." His answers were so noncommittal and so lackadaisical.

SoHarry was younger than him. That was a surprise. "Wow, when I saw you, I thought you were older."

Harry glanced at him but focused on the road again. "It happens."

What a faux pas. Draco knew better than to tell someone that he appeared older than he was. It just took him off guard. Harry's eyes were old, and there were dark, heavy bags under them. His cheeks protruded, and he seemed to already have wrinkles. He didn't look so young as twenty-two. "So you didn't go to uni?"

"You already asked that."

"You never answered."

"What about you? You ever go to uni?" Harry asked, imitating Draco's voice in an annoying falsetto.

"I'll have you know, I just graduated!" Well, Thomas Felton had just graduated. Draco couldn't very well tell Harry that he had gone to the famous Oxford and was actually still in school.

Harry didn't respond immediately. He took a chip and ate it whole. By now, they looked a bit soggy. "So why are you working in the warehouse? You could get a cushy office job or something."

Well, Draco would have to stick to his cover story. "Couldn't get anything else. The economy, you know."

Harry did seem to know. He nodded gravely. "I won't work in the warehouse forever. Maybe not even Grunnings. I mean, I know the point of this show you're on is to get you to work here, but it's not the best for advancement. Hagrid started out as a custodian, and he's been working here almost his entire life." Finally! Finally, Harry opened up. Now only if he'd done this in front of the cameras, Draco's job would be finished for the day, he'd hand a fancy check to a grateful Harry, and he could move on with his life.

But until then, he needed to get more. "Sounds harsh. This is a stepping stone for me, really. I was supposed to work with Mr. Dursley after all. I don't know if warehouse was supposed to be it."

Harry smiled. "That's what a lot of us thought. Mr. Dursley wouldn't know what to do with you anyway."

"What do you mean by that?"

He shrugged. "It's just that Mr. Dursley tends to boss people around without doing his own work. He used to be a salesman and interact with the customers. When the regional manager of this branch left a few weeks ago, Mr. Dursley was simply the senior worker and he knew the higher-ups pretty well. I honestly have no idea what job he could teach you unless it was sucking up to someone."

Ooh, Draco thought, this boy has some issues with one Mr. Dursley, and all it took was a conversation over soggy chips. Well, Draco would see for himself what the man was like. And when he finished this absurd adventure, if he still didn't like this boss of theirs, he'd have him fired. Simple enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modeled the company and warehouse after The Office and an old article about working conditions in Amazon warehouses which actually inspired this story so many years ago. Next chapter, Draco meets the elusive Mr. Dursley. I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave a comment!


	3. The Dursleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a misstep with Harry and an unpleasant evening with the Dursleys.

The rest of the workday went smoothly, apart from the few gaffes Draco committed in calling a store owner "sir" when said customer was actually a "ma'am," and dropping a box full of drills on a store manager's foot. Apart from all that, everything went swimmingly. Especially since he didn't have to work in the actual warehouse. Menial labor was not his forte. 

"So how was your day, Mr. Felton?" Harry asked with a bright smile on his face. They were driving back to the warehouse now, having dropped off all he stock to various stores around the Surrey area, and even to a store all the way in Kent. Since there was space in the van now, most of the television crew were riding in the van to capture more of their interactions on camera.

Draco honestly couldn't have enjoyed it more. Admittedly, he would rather be curled up with a good book in the manor library, but as far as humble jobs went, it couldn't have been better. "I enjoyed it," he said honestly, "and I felt like I did some good today." He had said as much to the cameraman, who looked just as happy to have some usable footage.

"So what do you do after work?" Draco asked, curious about Harry's life. He had learned very little, but from his little fact-collecting, he determined that the man was far too skinny and it wasn't just because of a good metabolism. 

Harry shrugged, pulling the van into the car park of the Grunnings building. "Since it's summer, I usually just go home, read a bit, and tend to the house."

"Oh, you still live with your parents?" Draco asked. No shame in that. Draco still lived with his, after all.

"No." The way he said the word, clipped and purposefully not angry, convinced Draco that there was something else. And yet, someone on Harry's paycheck shouldn't have been able to afford a house. Maybe he was renting? Had roommates? Maybe he was a live-in housekeeper during his hours off from Grunnings?

Draco was about to pursue the topic when he noticed Harry's grip on the steering wheel clench and unclench. Apparently this was a sore subject. Although it would probably be something the cameras would like, Draco felt that Harry wouldn't want people to know about whatever it was. "Erm, any plans for the rest of summer?"

"I'm visiting my girl in a few days. We haven't seen each other for a few weeks since I've been back at Surrey."

"Where does she live?"

"Ottery St. Catchpole. It's a real long way from here," he said with a tiny smile.

Okay, this was safe territory. This was a line of questioning Harry didn't seem to mind. "How long have you been dating?"

The smile grew with a nostalgic fondness. "I haven't a clue, really. We knew each other for years, but didn't actually start doing anything like dating until we were maybe sixteen."

That was interesting. "So you've been dating maybe, six years? Good God man, why haven't you proposed?"

At that, Harry's smile slipped and Draco immediately felt like an ass. "Don't have the money yet. Her family doesn't have money either. One day, I'll be worthy of her, and we'll have her dream wedding."

How curious. The man was madly in love. It surprised Draco that they had lasted in a long-distance relationship for six years. He had known no long-distance relationship to survive even a year. "How did you two even meet?"

"Through Grunnings at the very first, and then Exeter-"

"You're an Exon?" Draco could see him wincing, as if he hadn't meant to reveal that fact. Draco's own godfather read at Exeter and had tried to nudge him toward the school. Unfortunately, the draw of Oxford's Classical and French studies was too strong. He wondered what Harry's specialty was.

"Yeah, but I've yet to graduate. I'm only enrolled part time since I generally work full time." Harry turned the van off and climbed out.

"You work there? What do you do?" Draco climbed out as well and followed him back to the warehouse. Was this just a summer job then? Did he work on campus? Was it possible Draco would have seen him around on his frequent visits to his godfather?

Harry shrugged. "Same stuff I do here. Except I get paid more per hour and my boss there actually does his job-" Draco again noted the antagonism toward Dursley. "-so I can focus on doing my schoolwork."

"Where do you work? What company?"

Harry rubbed his neck. "It's just a factory job," he said vaguely.

"How curious. So you must be quite intelligent to make it to Exeter."

"Enough to get in, and I'll admit I had some help. I'm there on a merit scholarship and some loans. There are some really brilliant people there, and I can't hold a candle to them."

Draco rolled his eyes. He was tired of hearing who was brilliant and who was not. As far as he could tell, Harry was the most intelligent person Draco had met yet. Including every person above him on the Grunnings chain of command. "Intelligence isn't just book smarts," Draco claimed.

Harry laughed. "Tell that to my A-levels," he joked.

"No, really. Intelligence should be based on being able to think and solve problems. I mean, anyone can learn to tighten a screw or mop a floor. The ones who make the big bucks are the ones who can diagnose problems,  fix those problems, and keep things running."

He ignored the other boy's narrowing eyes and kept on his tirade: "Really, any dolt can mow a lawn and wash a car! That's why they're menial labor. The intelligent people are those who a re good communicators, who can figure out how to make a lawnmower or vehicle commercially appealing-"

"You should shut up."

Draco blinked.

"What?" No one had ever, EVER, spoken to him in such a crass way. If his parents or godfather wanted him to be quiet, they would tell him very strictly, 'Control yourself,' or 'Shush now.'

"You know, I've had those jobs before. I'm done lots of 'menial labor,' and seeing as you're learning to do these jobs now, maybe you shouldn't stick your nose up at it all? They're people too."

Draco was exasperated. Did he ever say they weren't people? "I never said they weren't people, just that they aren't intelligent, aren't quick to understand certain concepts or solve certain problems. I'm paying you a compliment," Draco said slowly as if Harry would understand him more clearly at a slower rate.

As Harry didn't respond, Draco took it as a sign of him winning the argument. How wonderful, to bring another person to one's side of thinking. He glanced back to see that the cameramen had been following them for some time. He was a bit disheartened, however, to see the man frowning at him.

"Anyway, Harry, I believe I've learned quite a lot today. Thank you ever so much for your tutelage," Draco said, holding out his hand. Harry hesitated, as if Draco was going to pull away at the last second and slap him. Sure, he remembered the grimy hand from this morning, but Harry was a good guy, and a little dirt between two good men was nothing.

"Thanks for being open-minded, Tom," Harry said. There was something about the way he said it; begrudgingly? Did the other man dislike him for some reason? For some ungodly reason, Draco didn't want Harry to dislike him. He rather liked Harry now and hoped the man liked him.

When he looked Harry in the eye though, he seemed to be smiling quite sincerely. There were wrinkles near the corners of his eyes and a relaxed mien about him. Draco felt himself smiling too. They said their goodbyes, not at all as stiff as Draco thought they would be, and parted ways. Draco hung back as he still needed to fake some scenes with the cameramen. Hearing a quiet chuckle, he glanced back at Harry to see him shaking his head as he went back to work. 

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

"Okay, now we want some shots of you on the phone with your family."

"Now your thoughts on today in light of the footage we have. If we don't have any footage of it, don't bother mentioning it."

"Mention how difficult the job was."

"And how honorable the workers were. Don't forget to slide in a comment about how important the jobs you saw today were." 

"Okay, you're good. The next location will be up north, so I hope you packed warmly."

"Oh, Mr. Felton!" interrupted a voice. Draco turned to see a walrus waddling toward him. With everything he had learned today, he had an idea of who this might be.

.-'              
'--./ /         _.---.    
   '-,   (__..-`             \  
       \                x        |  
       `, .__.      ,__.-- /  
        '._/_.' ___.-`

He had initially balked at the offer, not wanting to spend time with other people when he could be spending it with himself, but the Director pushed him into it, saying that they needed more footage of Dursley, 'not that hopeless kid.' So when Dursley invited him over for dinner after the long day, Draco couldn't say no.

Mr. Dursley came down to the warehouse at around quitting time, roughly told Harry to make himself useful elsewhere, and introduced himself. Draco frowned the entire time as Dursley gave him an abbreviated and very _late_ tour of the upper floors. Draco grumbled to himself that this should have happened at the very beginning. He had to physically pinch himself to stifle his yawns as Dursley bemoaned all the complications of working an upper middle class job.

"The infrastructure needs some reworking too, but you don't see me complaining!" What a farce.

More than once or twice, Draco noted that the man purposefully put himself in the camera's line of sight, sometimes maneuvering clumsily around Draco. The memory of the obese man pressing up against him in a cubicle wasn't going away, even as they were driving to the Dursley residence, a perfectly manicured home with perfect little hedges, perfect little petunias, and one rather whale-like son. The cameras had been following the entire time, with one in Dursley's face as he drove. He had insisted upon it.

They followed Dursley into the kitchen where his wife was showing off her cooking skills by adding the last bit of salt. The food really did look good, Draco had to admit, inhaling the savory heaviness of steak. It seemed there was one hulking slab for each of them, even the woman, slight as she was. His eyes drifted around the kitchen, looking at the pristine condition of everything, from the shiny appliances to the waxed floor. His eyes passed over the back door, noting that their gardener was still working this late in the day in the heat of summer. There was something about him that caught his eye.

He slowly inched toward the door to the yard, all the while trying to focus on that hazy figure-

"Let's eat!"

The overweight man grabbed Draco by the shoulders and physically guided him to the table. He sent a last glance out the back, but the gardener had disappeared. How strange.

"How was your day, Diddydums?" the woman asked her son, a blond imitation of his father.

"Played video games. Saw a movie with Piers."

"How fun," she drawled.

Draco rolled his eyes. He knew it was summer, but still, one was expected to do more than glue one's eyes to a screen. How boring.

"How did you find work today, Mr. Felty?" the woman asked, turning her attention to Draco.

"Felton, ma'am. It was good, hard work. The warehouse guys are industrious, even under very stressful conditions."

"Hrmph, they work hard, but not nearly as hard as the those in the office," Dursley interrupted, half-masticated meat dangling between his teeth.

The woman put a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, dear, tell us."

"The computers are so slow, you wouldn't believe, Pet! And it is almost impossible to get your hands on a good cup of bracing coffee. I swear, our interns are all lazy layabouts."

Draco highly doubted that Mr. Dursley worked half as hard as the people down in the warehouse. "Excuse me, where is the toilet?"

"Ah, step into the hallway, and it's across the stairs. Can't miss it."

Draco nodded and closed the door to the kitchen behind him, hoping to block out their noise. These people were intolerable. He made quick work of going and washing his hands, but he wanted to prolong his return as much as possible. He lingered by the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. "Hello, the name's Thomas Felton." He shifted his weight. "The name's Felton. Tom Felton." He rather liked that. The only time when Tom was bearable.

As he opened the door from the loo, he heard another creak that didn't come from the door he had just opened. Stepping into the corridor, he found that the cupboard under the stairs was open.

He glanced into the dark space. Apparently the pull light wasn't working. Unsatisfied, he leaned against the open door and considered his options. The cupboard held some cleaning supplies, gardening tools, and childish odds and ends. It smelled freshly of earth and cut grass. Unable to find anything else of interest, he moved to close the door when something terrible caught his eye. There were marks on the inside of door. Nail marks. Draco was reminded of exhumed coffins with the insides of their lids all scratched up with the terror of those buried alive. There was even some blood, as if whatever was clawing at the door kept it up until it was bleeding.

He closed the door quietly, wondering how it had opened. Had someone followed him?

He walked back to the dining area and found them mid-conversation. It didn't seem like any of them had moved from their spots, not even the bored cameramen.

"Did you ever have a dog?" Draco hesitantly asked. But why would they keep a dog in there?

The Dursleys looked thrown. Such a random question. "No, no. But Vernon's sister sometimes visits with her bulldog."

Maybe they kept the dog in there when he was being unruly, and they were ashamed to say that they were so cruel to animals, he reasoned. But he knew better than to take things at face value. Those marks didn't have the sharp look of  dogs' nails. The way the scratches were shallow and yet bloody, Draco would almost hazard to say the work was done by human hands. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. So far, the Dursleys had proven to be unpleasant but humane. They wouldn't possibly do such a thing. Perhaps it had happened even before they moved into the house. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the time it's taken to put this up. I've been blindsided by Iron Fist fanfiction (poor Ward...), which really took me off guard. It's a weird switch, to go from one corporate jerk to another one. Not that they're complete jerks. They still have time to grow up.


	4. Devon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco takes a moment to visit his godfather, and Harry's day with Tom comes back to haunt him.

Draco's godfather, the stern Severus Snape, held the coveted position of Director of Biosciences at the University of Exeter. It was a difficult position to be sure, made especially harrowing since the closing of the man's more beloved chemistry department and the influx of students deemed too dunderheaded for the privilege of studying under the Severus Snape. The old man had been grouchier than usual, Draco remembered.

He wasn't entirely sure why the dour man was still living in this area, but Draco was glad he had someone down here. In a way, his Uncle Severus shaped his development as a person. Draco was indebted to the man, since otherwise he would be a clone of his father. However, and Draco felt no compunction about thinking so, Cokeworth was a thoroughly disgusting little city. It was dirty, dank, and populated by vermin of all kinds. That is, rats and crooks.

It just so happened to be near the next filming location, Devon, so Draco had the pleasure of visiting his godfather after the man's stiff invitation. He didn't take the stiffness as an indication that he wasn’t wanted. Rather, he knew Severus was always like that when he asked for company and was readying himself for rejection. He often had a saturnine temperament, but when Draco peeked in through the open door of the house on Spinner's End, he saw it was not so. Severus was aflurry with motion, moving boxes to and fro, kicking up dust with every movement.

"Something happening?"

"Just clearing the spare room."

Really? Draco had no idea his godfather expected him to stay the night. By contract, he had to stay in the hotel provided by the show.

"Er, you don't have to clear a room for me," he said awkwardly. It looked like the man had been working for a while.

Severus ceased his movements and looked at him derisively. "First, your hair looks ridiculous. Second, you should already have a place to stay. This is for one of my student researchers."

Draco felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and sputtered, "Yeah! Yes, I already have a place. I just, that is, I assumed…"

Uncle Severus went back to moving the boxes from the staircase toward the basement door. "Do not 'yeah,' me, Draco. Moreover, one shouldn't ever presume."

"Can I presume that you need help moving things around?" he asked in response. Draco thought he saw a smirk play about the man's face, but he couldn’t be sure.

"Your help would be much appreciated. I'll move the rest of these boxes here, and you can take them down to the basement."

Draco hopped to it with nary a hesitation. Despite his failure at the Grunnings in Surrey, he wasn't a complete stranger to hard work, especially in Severus' house. Though he barely did any work in his own house (servants, nannies, valets), whenever he came to Spinner's End, he found himself working hard at something.

"So Uncle Severus, what's this student researcher like?"

The man huffed as he dropped a box at Draco's feet. "Not worth all the effort I'm putting into him," he said, leaving to retrieve another box.

Draco took the recently fallen box and walked it down the stairs to the basement. "Is he any good?" he shouted up from where he was.

"No need to holler, Draco," Severus said as he joined him in the cellar and added a box to the heap on the dusty floor. He wiped his hands on a washcloth attached at the belt and motioned for Draco to join him on the ground floor. "I initially underestimated him. Vice-Chancellor Dumbledore urged me to give him a second chance, and though he's excelled so far in his studies, his frequent absences and flagrant disregard for authority vex me."

Draco nodded. There was nothing Uncle Severus hated more than a person with wasted potential. Severus pulled a chair out for him in the kitchen and went to the stove. Draco assumed he was making tea by the clinking sounds and pouring of water.

"Now, sit. How has this...venture been proceeding? What have you learned?"

Trust Uncle Severus to ask about it as a learning experience. "A few things. For one, I would hate to work in a warehouse. I would actually hate to work for Grunnings at all."

Severus joined him at the table and slid some biscuits toward him. "Hm. Why would you hate working for your own company?"

Draco was sorely tempted to shrug, but he knew how much his godfather hated it. "Well, I suppose the work is difficult for little pay. Did you know that new warehouse workers have to meet impossible standards in their first week or else they'll be fired? And the company doesn't see a problem with it, because in this economy, everyone's vying for such positions, no matter how menial."

"Impossible standards?" Uncle Severus asked, munching on his own biscuit. Draco had yet to take one, as he was still ranting.

"Yes! At least, impossible for me! I was working very hard, mind you, and still I was only doing ten percent of what needed to be done. The foreman switched me over to packing, and that wasn't any better! New things coming in all the time, and if I tried to take the time to pack them all nice and neatly, then I'd have another ten backed up. Then I was assigned delivery duty which was much better."

"Mhm?"

"Well, mostly because Harry was doing all the work. He's really good. With customers, with employee complaints. I rather liked him, Uncle Severus." Draco finally poured himself a mug of hot tea.

"Indeed. And how was your assignment up North? Sterlingshire, was it?"

Draco waved his hand flippantly. "Dealing with phone calls, nothing too strenuous or interesting. You know I'm a whiz with people. Harry's equally good. I wonder how he'd be on the phone. Patient, he is. Even with the stupidest of people. You know I have no patience with imbeciles--"

A high pitched whistle cut him off before he could continue his narrative. Severus smoothly stood up, wrapping his sweater around himself as he retrieved two mugs. "These imbeciles, while you were taking phone calls...?"

The teapot was set on the table, and Draco could inhale the smell of Earl Grey as it wafted toward him. He sighed. "Well, I had a few. For example, one customer wanted a refund on his drill because he ran over it with his car. Three times, he ran it over. Another one wanted hers replaced because her electrical drill wouldn't work when it wasn't plugged into an outlet! But every time I was ready to blow up at a person, I left it to Stan, the gentleman working there. He wasn't much better, but at least he was personable. A little dense, to be honest."

Severus was nodding to himself. "And you'll be in the area tomorrow?"

"Funny, isn't it? I rather like Devon." Draco paused and Harry once again came to mind. "Say, Ottery St. Catchpole is around here, yeah?"

His godfather nodded again and added, "You should have saved this one for last. Then you could have stayed here afterward until school started again."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "But you'll be having a student here. I can't share you, you know that," he said cheekily. Uncle Severus smirked at him; the man never gave full smiles, so Draco was rather satisfied with earning smirks.

"Well, he is your age. Maybe you two would get along."

"Pft. As if. What's his area of study exactly?"

"Biological and Medicinal Chemistry. Most students working toward this degree would need a paid year researching in industry, but no, not Potter! Due to his laziness, his neglect, I am stuck with him. Moreover, the Vice-Chancellor told me of this situation a mere month ago. You know most students would love to do research with me? It's an honor! But no. No!"

Draco mostly ignored the man as he grumbled over his tea. Sometimes Severus would get like this, harping on students unworthy of the scientific arts. Sometimes Draco had to wonder if the man was just being overdramatic.

"So, Potter's his name? Don't think I've ever run into him when I was visiting you and my old school buddies."

Severus shook his head. "You wouldn't have. He's a loner, really. And you would likely run in two completely different circles, what with you being in the _Humanities_." His godfather shot him a dirty look and Draco laughed aloud. Severus never forgave him for forsaking the sciences. Draco had been quite good, but the call of Latin and foreign languages was too strong.

"Well, Uncle Severus, it has been most enjoyable. I think I'm called away now. May I stop by tomorrow?" He downed the rest of his tea. Between leaving a half-mug for Severus to clean and uncouthly chugging it, he picked chugging it. At least in his godfather's company.

Uncle Severus made a disgusted look and sighed. "You might as well, and feel free to drop in at any point this summer. Maybe you'll get a chance to meet Mr. Potter and understand my pain."

Draco flashed him a smile as he made his way to the door. "Don't mind if I do!"

~(=^‥^)/

Harry wished he had more time to spend with Ginny and Ron. As it was, he had research to do later this summer, and he needed all the income he could get. Unfortunately, the position with his Professor Snape was not a paid one. He _had_ a paid research gig, but that fell through all too recently. Harry ground his teeth, thinking of the hatred his uncle had to have for him to interfere with his education and possible source of income. The man just didn't want to give him a break. He remembered the anger and shock that coursed through him when he received the letter informing him that the spot that he had hard-won was being given to someone else with better contacts. He also remembered the ensuing fight once he realized that his uncle had had a part in kicking him out of the Grunnings' Research and Development Department.

Harry snorted to himself. Then the next day, everyone at work was wondering why he had a black eye. It was all in the past, though. It had been what, a month since the incident? At least he had gotten something. If he hadn't pleaded with the Headmaster, Harry knew his chances of graduating on time would be slim. It was already costing him quite a pretty penny to attend school. He shook his head to rid himself of the anger. It would do no good to go into work already pissed, especially when ultimately it was always his choice to go back to the awful Dursleys.

Calming himself, he rounded the corner and arrived at the drill factory. Hm. There weren't usually so many people around. Were there usually so many vans as well?

"Hello, Mr. Weasley. What's going on?" Harry asked, approaching his boss, Arthur Weasley.

"Oh, Harry, it's good you're here. There's a prospective worker coming for a reality television show. It's quite exciting!"

The blood drained from Harry's face. Reality television show? Could Tom be here? What was the likelihood of this happening? Especially after the whole fiasco with Tom visiting the Dursleys for dinner a few weeks ago!

"Why hadn't you mentioned it? You've never spoken about it at home." Harry had been staying in Ron's room for a few days. He found it strange that Mr. Weasley hadn't told his family.

Mr. Weasley waved his worry away. "Mum was the word. This evening, we can tell the whole family about the cameras. They'll be so surprised," he said, not at all realizing that the look on Harry's face was horror.

"Ah. Well, I'm kind of camera shy," Harry said, his fear of being discovered lending to his acting. "Is there any way I could work where they aren't around?"

The man frowned. "I assumed you'd be around to help. Oh well, you can work upstairs today. They shouldn't go up there. After all, he's here to do some good old-fashioned manual labor!"

Harry had to smile to himself. If this was as he thought, then Mr. Weasley would get a nasty surprise from Tom in the form of a whiny, weak, but ultimately hard-working kid. Well, he'd let Mr. Weasley figure it out by himself. After all, no one was to know that Harry also worked for the branch in Surrey. He worked 'full time' here in Devon but took a month of paid vacation every year to return to Surrey and work his summer job, making sure everything was running smoothly. Although it wasn't strictly illegal, Harry didn't necessarily want either of his bosses to know. Thankfully, Grunnings was such a big disorganized company that his information was lost in the paperwork, and no one noticed there were two Harry Potters on the payroll.

"Well, Harry, I'll leave you to it!" Mr. Weasley said with a cheerful wave.

Only two hours passed before he was back. "Harry, this kid is killing me."

Harry couldn't hold back his laugh. "What's the problem, Mr. Weasley?"

The man's eyes were wide and he combed a hand through his hair helplessly. "He just needs to stand there. I swear, the work's not that hard. I don't understand why he's having so much trouble…"

"What's his name?" Harry asked curiously. It was starting to sound like that Tom Felton.

"Tom was his name. He's a bright lad, but it seems the pace is too fast for him."

Harry nodded. It was the same back in Surrey. "I'm sorry that's not working out. Maybe move him to sales? I'm sure he'll be more useful there."

Mr. Weasley nodded sadly. "I'm afraid that's what I'll have to do. Such a shame, having to move him around like this. And all those cameras recording every single one of his mistakes! I do not envy the kid, that's for sure." With that, the man briskly walked away.

And yet, only a half hour after that, he returned. "He has terrible customer service!" Mr. Weasley lamented.

An hour after that was lunch. Mr. Weasley looked beat as he smiled wearily at Harry. "Will you be joining us in the cafeteria, Harry? The cameras are still there, but if you try hard enough, you can avoid them. Ginny's on the floor." At that, Harry brightened up. He supposed he could…he didn't wear a blue uniform here, and he could get a baseball cap that would be perfect for hiding his face from the cameras. His mind made up, he grabbed a company hat and followed Mr. Weasley to the cafeteria.

There, standing in the middle of the lunch line, was his Ginny. Fiery, sweet Ginny, who supported him in everything he did, listened to him complain, and…flirted with Tom Felton? Okay, flirting was a strong word. But she was wearing a skirt that was on the short side and her hair was so perfectly wavy and swept to the side, and she was talking to him and laughing.

Mr. Weasley walked up to the pair and pointed toward Harry. Before Tom could get a proper look at him, Harry lowered his cap and altered his path. Instead of joining them, he went to the back of the line and waited. Before long, there was a tap on his shoulder. Fearing the worst, he slowly turned.

"Oh, thank goodness," he said, realizing that it was not Tom or any of the camera crew.

"What's gotten into you, Harry?" his girlfriend asked, one hand on her hip. "That was awfully rude."

Harry scanned the area to make sure there were no microphones in earshot. He looked back to Ginny and pulled her in front of him. Putting his head close to her ear, he whispered, "You know how I work in Surrey as well?" Ginny nodded, probably realizing that Harry was trying to be furtive. "Well, that same guy was there, and we spent almost the whole day together. And then he had dinner with the Dursleys and I had to dodge around the bloke again. I can't have him or the camera crew recognize me!"

A large O formed in Ginny's mouth as she finally understood. "Got it. Go back to the office, I'll bring you lunch. How's that?" Harry grinned. "That's perfect." He pulled his cap even lower and left the lunch line, ignoring Mr. Weasley's calls for him to meet Tom Felton. Hopefully, he could avoid them for the rest of the day. That wouldn't be too difficult, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Sorry for the wait. Things are getting more relaxed now, so I'll probably be able to write more. Cheers!


	5. The Weasleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wraps up with the Weasleys and in trying to investigate the Harry mystery, makes his father proud for entirely different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco-heavy chapter. There will be some Harry in the next chapter, promise! Please let me know what you all think!

**Devon**

The day had been an interesting, albeit _long_ , one. Arthur Weasley, though poor as dirt and having the coat and shoes to match, was a perpetual optimist. Draco had slaved away all day, and despite the disparaging looks he was earning from many of the other workers, Mr. Weasley obstinately encouraged him and praised him whenever he did something right- or really anything close to right. It was refreshing. He was accustomed to so many variations of "Draco, you're a disappointment," that hearing the phrase "You did better than expected" warmed his chest and drove him to speechlessness.

If he had to have dinner with a family, he wished it would have been with Mr. Weasley and his savvy daughter.

"When do you finish filming?" asked the girl, Ginny. She was a pretty redhead with a spark in her eyes that Draco had not seen in a lady in a long while. Arthur had left Draco to quality control, but had to address an issue on the other side the building- something about a new drill he'd been tinkering with that had gone haywire somehow. So, he'd left Ginny with him to make sure that he really was letting only the best of the best drills go by to be boxed and sent to various distribution centers around the UK. 

Draco cleared his throat. "After the next location, in fact," he answered. 

She nodded and hefted a messenger bag over one shoulder. She wasn't really taking her role very seriously. It looked more like she'd been ready to go home when her dad roped her into babysitting. "Then what's next?" she asked. 

Draco shrugged. "I think I'll go back home for a time while resuming the job search. Perhaps visit my godfather for a bit."

"That sounds like a nice break," she observed. "Where's home for you?"

Draco picked up a drill and looked at it. It was red and looked like every other drill he'd ever seen. What was he supposed to do with it? He put it back on the conveyor belt as Ginny snorted a laugh. She grabbed the drill before it could go far and dumped it into a cardboard box at their feet. Draco had no idea what was wrong with it. "Wiltshire," Draco answered without thinking.

Ginny's eyebrows rose. "Oh, that's quite a ways away," she said awkwardly. "A very nice area too, isn't it?"

"Yes, it rather is." He would rather not talk much about Wiltshire as he knew very little of the neighborhoods and havens surrounding Malfoy Manor. If pressed to give details, he could only talk about his mother's gardens and the pub two towns over where he and his buddies would sneak in for trivia night. 

He continued picking up random drills, letting some continue on the conveyor belt and tossing others into the box. Some went into the pile, only for Ginny to return them to the conveyor belt. Draco still didn't know the secret between a good drill and a bad one, but he was too tired and proud to ask. A silence hung between them until Draco grew uncomfortable enough to break it.

"What about you?"

Ginny looked mock-aghast, putting an overdramatic hand over her heart. "Oh my, what _about_ me?" she joked.

Draco chuckled as well, not really sure what he was asking. "Oh, I suppose, what are you doing the rest of summer?"

A small smile played about her face. "My boyfriend is doing a research program here over the summer. I'll get to see him on the weekends, hopefully. I hear his academic supervisor is a real tool, though, so I'm not sure."

Draco felt bad for her. "Those guys can really let all that power get to their heads," he agreed, thinking of his Uncle Severus.

Ginny nodded vigorously. "Yeah, he's worked so hard and _still_ , he's hitting obstacles left and right." 

"Like?" 

Ginny huffed, and her hackles rose as she started describing her boyfriend's tortuous path through academia. "He earned a prestigious research position with Grunnings' R&D this summer, but it was given to someone else at the last minute." Draco could see her fist clenching. "You can bet that kid, whoever got it, wasn't nearly as qualified or as hard-working. I bet he or she just complained to daddy dearest or something and got the research position. He had to ask his headmaster for any position, and there was only one available with a professor at the university." Ginny was glowering, and Draco could sense the bitterness emanating from her. 

She continued: "I mean, shouldn't people get these positions based on merit? It's completely unfair," she said, crossing her arms. "And I thought we had passed the age of nepotism." 

Draco wasn't sure how to engage this conversation point. After all, his appointment at Grunnings would be an act of nepotism. It was just how his world worked. People networked. People got to know other people and trusted them. This boyfriend of hers would simply have to learn that knowing the right people was a skill too. 

But of course, Draco was starting to develop enough tact that he wouldn't say such things out loud to a woman who was already so riled up. Instead, he patted her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that." 

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ...◅

"Well Tom, it was a real pleasure having you work with us!" said Mr. Weasley, using both hands to vigorously pump Draco's relatively limp arm.

"Oh, er, the pleasure's all mine," he said awkwardly. 

"Did you hear that, Ginny?" he hollered to his daughter. "Pleasure's all his! What a well-mannered young man." Arthur grinned from ear to ear.

"Dad, you're a bit much," she said, red tinging her ears. Draco could feel her embarrassment. 

Draco put a hand on top of Arthur's and rested it there for a moment. "I'll treasure the time I had here. You were all very welcoming." And then peeled the man's grimy hand off of his own. Whatever problem he'd gone to address while he and Ginny were quality-checking the drills apparently involved a lot of grease.

"We pride ourselves on hospitality," he said. "You know, my wife Molly is making a heavenly meatloaf tonight, and with our oldest children out of the house, I'm sure she'd love to have you join us. It would only be me, Molly, Ginny, Ron- that's our youngest son -oh, and a family friend, whom I'm surprised you haven't met. He also works here at Grunnings, and he could certainly give you a different perspective since he's worked at another Grunnings location before-" 

"Oh, Dad, I don't think-"

"-I'd really like to meet him and your family."

"- _Mr. Felton!_ " 

They all looked to the source of the voice: the director. He marched over to Draco and laid a hand on his shoulder, clearing his throat. "I'm afraid we must get going. We're traveling overnight to our next location." 

Draco hadn't actually looked at the itinerary. He usually just went along with whatever production told him, since changes were always being made last minute. 

"We are? I think the cameras would love this, though," he said, trying to appeal to the director's business-side. The man didn't much care for truth or filming things as they were. He was the one who orchestrated the whole baseball-and-glove scene. Surely, the director knew that an audience would love to see a family like the Weasleys. 

The director looked truly regretful at the proposition, but ultimately shook his head. "No, no, we haven't the time. Tom, we're on a filming schedule, and we've wasted enough time. Especially with the last family dinner you attended."

Draco scowled and unhappily pointed out, " _You_ made me go to that dinner." The assistant cameraman nodded in agreement.

"As you're no fan of dinners, then I'll save you from this one," he said, completely disregarding the logic of the conversation. "You can say your goodbyes, but we must start filming your commentary."  

Mr. Weasley took the opportunity to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I can see you're a very hardworking young man." Draco wasn't sure why, but it felt like there was something stuck in his throat. "That'll serve you well in life. Someday, it may take a few years, but someday, you might be a manager of a regional branch like me!" Draco couldn't look him in the eye. "You're a bright kid. Just continue to have empathy for your coworkers and colleagues, and you'll go far." 

"Mr. Weasley..." Before Draco could form an equally touching response, the director was dragging him off to film more scenes of him talking to the camera while they still had daylight.  

"It was nice meeting you!" Ginny called. Draco could only wave. 

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ ...◅

Draco spent a long week traveling and working in yet another Grunnings factory- this one in Burnley, a cultural desert, but you wouldn't see Draco complaining (out loud) -and then another week driving himself crazy with irritation at the production team and himself. Leaning against one of the four turrets of Malfoy Manor, he looked out over the neat hedgerows and beyond them to a small village that was home to maybe a handful of families. He wondered if any of the people he'd met at the various Grunnings locations had come from such humble beginnings. He couldn't remember the last time he set foot in that village. When he was a teenager, maybe, when he used to love the admiring stares and jealous looks directed at his fine clothing. He wondered first whether he had invented the stares for his own ego and then wondered what Harry would have thought of a teenage Draco. No doubt, he'd have seen through all of his insecurities. 

Draco furrowed his brow at the thought of Harry. They had wrapped up the base filming a mere two days ago, and production had been hard at work, gathering information on the workers who would be featured in the finale of the episode. However, either Harry's file was as protected as an undercover CIA agent or the show's production simply didn't care enough to look for him. _Or_ , Judging by the way the director was acting when he was at the Surrey site, he would bet that the producers of the show didn't want Harry on the show at all. Why that would be so, Draco couldn't fathom.  

Harry was an employee, so obviously Grunnings had to have his information. Draco's didn't have the clearance level to look at all the HR files and he'd gotten _n_ _o_ help whatsoever from his father or other higher-ups in the company in getting that clearance. 

The producer and director had repeatedly told him to let _them_ handle the information gathering, and if they couldn't find anything on Harry, they'd just use the Dursley footage, as reprehensible that family had been. Draco meanwhile was tasked with deciding which employees he wanted to praise and how he wanted to reward them. In the past episodes, CEOs had gifted vacations, cash, promotions…some had put together task forces headed up by the employees they had met. And Draco had even seen an episode where an employee had to go through retraining because he was so awful at his job. In the back of his head, he wondered if he could do something like that for the foul Mr. Dursley. Or even fire the lout, he thought gleefully. 

He leaned his elbows on the stone railing and looked down. There was Dobby the butler, opening the car door for his father. An idea was starting to form in Draco's mind as to how he could get info on Harry in order to get him on the show. 

He flew down three flights of stairs and slowed his pace, sidling up to the ever-cold Lucius Malfoy who had just tossed his coat to the butler. Draco sighed dramatically. "Father, I can't see the personnel files from the Yorkshire call center." 

"That's because you don't have the clearance to look at personnel files," his father drawled, hardly giving Draco any attention. "As I told you yesterday and the day before on the phone. And you'll not be getting such clearance until you are officially appointed to a position." He strode to his study, and Draco pursued him like a dog on the hunt.

"How am I to select which of these employees to honor?" 

Pulling out various papers and plans from a desk drawer, his father wasn't even looking at Draco. He was scrutinizing pictures of bronze and stainless steel faucets as he dismissed his son. "I believe the production staff provided you with the personnel files you required." His father was having none of it. 

Draco wasn't getting anywhere. "Oh fine, I'll tell you the truth." 

At that, his father glanced at him. "Oh, the truth? Do tell." 

"I'm actually quite irritated with the behavior of some of the customer service advisers, but I'd rather not draw attention to it on national television. I want to handle it as an internal matter." 

At that, his father paused in his drawer-opening and paper-shuffling to peer at Draco. "And what do you think you would do?" 

"Well, I would have to track down the employees and then look at what kind of experience they had before starting. I'd like to know what training we provided, and how we rewarded the employees who were improving. Not necessarily the ones who were stars, but those who made great leaps considering where they started." Draco concocted his lie by thinking of what would have benefited that Stan fellow who had the patience of a saint but was perhaps just a touch shy of competent. It probably helped that all of these parameters were things he had been thinking about since he was up North. 

"Why Draco, I'm surprised that you've actually taken an interest in the company. That sounds like quite a lot of work," his father said, raising a thin, blond eyebrow. 

"Yes! Er, yes, I do suspect it's a lot of work, which is why I wanted to be able to look at the files on the computer instead of having others print it all out for me. It's such a waste." Draco considered his next suggestion, knowing there'd be no easy way out of his next suggestion. "Or maybe it's time to formally appoint me to the position?" 

His father looked approvingly at him, having entirely ignored the task in which he'd previously been so engaged. "Do you mean that, Draco?" 

Draco gulped. "I do." 

Sighing, the Malfoy patriarch put all the papers and pictures in a thick leather binder and sat himself in the oversized leather chair. "Sadly, we cannot formally do anything like that because it would require the votes of the board and numerous press conferences. And your contract with the show prevents you from attracting attention." Draco deflated, but his father gestured for him to come closer. As Draco walked around the enormous desk, his father laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

"I am proud of you, son. I had hoped you would grow from this experience, and you've exceeded my expectations." Draco felt awful. He'd lied to his dad _and_ he wasn't even going to get what he'd been scheming for. Before he could feel bad for long, he heard the click-clack of his father typing. "But for now, I will log in, and you may use my account this afternoon while your mother and I look at new kitchen fixtures." 

His excitement was tempered by the knowledge that he'd only ever disappoint his father. 

"I do expect you to have something to show for all this," his father said, clicking on the keys. Finally, he pushed away from the desk and gestured to the computer. "Have at it," he said with the tiniest of smiles, "and count yourself lucky that your mother isn't dragging you with us." He tapped the binder that no doubt held a textbook's worth of useless information about various knobs and handles. 

Draco's guilt at fooling his father was quickly evaporating in the face of the potential answers he'd be getting. This was important. He simply _had_ to know what was up with Harry. Draco pasted on a beaming smile for his father and said, "When Mother asks which you prefer, just choose one at random and say it feels more contemporary. Or rustic." 

His father gave a short huff of a laugh and vacated the study, leaving Draco with unlimited access. No doubt, this was against company policy, but if Lucius Malfoy allowed it, surely it couldn't be that bad? 

There was a manual search, into which he input 'Harry'. He narrowed it down by branch, but even within the Surrey branch, there were at least ten men and one woman called 'Harry'. The system was old and didn't have pictures or anything that would actually be useful, but it did have addresses and one happened catch his eye. 4 Privet Drive? 

'Harry Potter,' it read. Actually, it seemed there were two 'Harry Potter's who lived at 4 Privet Drive, but only one of them worked at the Surrey location. 

Draco clicked on the name to look at the details. The computer said one was a summer worker, and he was the right age to be his Harry. The other…was also the right age, but seemed to work full-time at the Devon branch. Draco clicked around a bit more and noted that the second Harry Potter applied for his full holiday from the Devon branch every year for the past three years, and the times lined up with the summer job that the first Harry worked in Surrey. There were _two_ files for him, something that was certainly against company policy. It's truly one thing to ask for work in a different branch for a certain amount of time, but to get holiday pay on top of it? How did he get two files in the first place? 

Draco thought it would've been smarter to ask for transfer to the Devon branch each year and just get a rolled-up holiday pay, but maybe Harry didn't realize that was an option.

Looking through the files, Draco found more things that disturbed him. Harry said he started part-time at fourteen, and he could see that…but it termed him as self-employed and provided no benefits whatsoever. To be fair, Grunnings was not allowed to employ people under sixteen. When Harry would have been sixteen at the Surrey branch, he was shifted toward full employment hours as he worked at least 30 hours a week…but was still considered self-employed. So no benefits, no insurance, no holiday pay, and the years couldn't be counted toward his pension. It was for a sixteen-year old, though. Draco told himself that it wasn't as if kids at that age needed health insurance or cared about pensions, but it made him uneasy. He scrolled around and finally found when Harry started being considered an actual employee. Twenty. That was four years into being a full-time worker! 

He was aghast on Harry's behalf. On his profile, there were also evaluations by his boss, the infamous Mr. Dursley. Each evaluation only had negative things to say about him, but the adolescent described in the vitriolic evaluations was nothing like the Harry he had met in Surrey. How could this be the same Harry? This worker was 'lazy' and 'slow to learn' and 'aggressive toward other workers.' 

Maybe this wasn't his Harry. 

Except…Draco had a sinking feeling this _was_ his Harry. Maybe the awful evaluations were explained by the fact that his address was the same as Mr. Dursley's? Maybe they were connected. Maybe there was a reason for his unease at the Dursley household.

Intrigued and disturbed, Draco took down the names of some of the workers in the Yorkshire center so that he would have something to show for his afternoon in his father's account. He sat in his father's chair for a good long while, contemplating the mystery that was Harry Potter.


	6. Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is conflicted about the information he discovers about Harry and decides to visit his godfather for advice.

Draco couldn't do it. It had been a week since he discovered that Harry was connected to the Dursleys, and the production team was in the final stages of setting up the episode's finale. Which meant everyone was trying to convince him to include Dursley. But…he simply _could not_ meet with Vernon Dursley and make nice with the lump of fat, not when he knew there was something fishy afoot.

Why did Harry and the Dursleys share an address? Was he truly living with the Dursleys? If so, then was it out of the kindness of their hearts (doubtful) or were they charging him rent (why not move out?) or was something keeping him there? Also, why didn't Draco see any evidence of him when he'd visited their home? Maybe, Draco speculated, Harry was just using the address because he was homeless and was actually living in Hagrid's van.

Draco had half a mind to go all Batman on Dursley and take vengeance on Harry's behalf, because he _knew_ Harry had been taken advantage of, and he _knew_ Dursley was _behind_ it or _involved_ or _knew_ about it somehow. Draco just didn't know the means, motive, or opportunity. He had basically nothing.

But he _could not_ just sit there in his opulent manor thinking up how much money to give Stan or Cho or Mr. Weasley while such a big mystery weighed on his mind. So he finally told the director he could screw himself (in an email; Draco didn't have the actual guts to ring him) and he packed a bag, summoning Crabbe and Goyle to meet him in a little pub two towns over.

The local pub was styled like an Irish establishment, with orange and greens hanging from every rafter. Draco sipped his tall stout; he rather liked the bitter taste when he was in such a mood.

"Draco, what's the emergency?" Goyle asked, nodding at the barkeep to get him one of whatever Draco was drinking.

"I need space to think, and I need to get off the grid."

Goyle looked properly surprised. "Did you kill a man?"

Draco took a look gulp of his drink. "No, but I'm tempted to."

"Wot, Draco killed a guy?" Crabbe asked, finding a seat at their table. He already had a drink in hand. "Need help getting rid of the body?"

Goyle nodded solemnly. "Looks it. Seems like we'll have a use for that dynamite after all. So long, dental records!"

Crabbe snickered at the ludicrous suggestion, and Draco slammed his glass down.

"Gentlemen," he hissed, "I am in emotional straits right now, and your jokes are not helping!" The pair of them looking properly guilty, Draco went on: "You know that fellow, Harry, I would occasionally mention over the groupchat?

"Occasionally?" Crabbe said with a raised brow.

Draco ignored him. "Well, I have evidence that the company has mistreated him since he started half a decade ago. And the show's production wants me to praise and reward the very man who's no doubt made his time with Grunnings miserable."

Crabbe put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, mate. That sounds like a right awful situation."

"What do you need from us, though?" asked Goyle.

And that was how Draco enlisted his childhood friends to go on an impromptu holiday in Penzance. After packing a couple weekend bags, the three of them started off driving in Draco's car. They agreed to take Draco's cell phone all the way to the west so that he couldn't be traced when they dropped him off in Devon, right in the middle of the terrible town of Cokeworth.

As he waved goodbye to his loyal friends, he starting thinking of what exactly he would tell Uncle Severus. Would the man even care? Draco's tentative plan was to comb through the contract he'd signed with the show to see if he had recourse to do as he pleased- that is, get Harry on the show and kick Dursley to the curb -instead of whatever the production was pushing. What if there was nothing there? He supposed a real adult would publicly admit his company's wrongdoings against Harry (and Grunnings had plenty of faults that needed apologizing) and make reparations somehow. But he wanted to settle this quietly. _And_ he didn't know how much pull Vernon Dursley had, because clearly the man had connections if he was able to rise so high in the company without any charisma or talent.

All of this weighing on his mind, Draco forgot to knock when he finally arrived at his godfather's doorstep. To be fair, the front door was wide open.

"Potter, I am speaking to you. When one fails to maintain eye contact, he is one of three things: embarrassed, unconfident, or deceitful. Now tell me which of those _you_ are so I may mark it on your evaluation and be done with you!"

Draco had never heard his godfather quite so enraged. He walked up the few more feet it took for him to cross the threshold and peeked around the doorway. He could see someone's back, undoubtedly the "Potter" that Severus had mentioned earlier and was now berating. It was the end of summer; he had tolerated such a terrible student for all this time?

"Well?" demanded Uncle Severus, swinging one arm out wide. The student barely flinched. Before Potter could respond, Severus' gaze went beyond the boy and settled on his godson. "What are you doing here?" the man growled as he suddenly recognized Draco standing in the doorway.

"Oh, erm, I told you I'd be staying with you after we wrapped filming, don't you remember?" Draco said hesitantly. He was cowed by his godfather on a good day. He wasn't quite sure what to do now that he'd caught the man in a terrible mood.

Potter turned around at his voice, and Draco's heart nearly stopped beating.

"Tom?" Potter- well, _Harry_ asked.

Draco should have seen it coming. He really should have. "Oh. Harry. Harry Potter it is, then?" There was a lump in his throat. Everything was starting to line up, and he was starting to wonder what else was right in front of his nose that he had missed.

"You two know each other?" Uncle Severus asked, clearly irritated. He was composed, at least.

Draco rushed to keep his cover. "I worked with Harry at the Grunnings distribution center in Surrey. I've been on that show about how the recession has affected people from different walks of life? _Remember,_ Uncle? I've been going by _Tom_ rather than Thomas. Oh, and Harry, this is a um, a friend of the family." It was a good thing that his godfather kept a tight leash on his social life. That is, Uncle Severus had no friends or acquaintances who would connect him to the Malfoy family, even though he and Lucius had known each other since adolescence. "Uncle Severus and my father worked in the biochemistry department at Exeter for a while. They er, went to school together."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Huh, I didn't know your dad was a biochemist."

Lucius Malfoy didn't know the least thing about biochemistry, and probably couldn't tell the difference between a micelle and an eggshell. Draco nodded vigorously and looked nervously at his godfather. "Yes, in fact, he worked with Uncle Severus to develop an enzyme that er, helped people digest milk?"

Severus cleared his throat. " _Tom_ , I do believe you are confusing my research with Professor Slughorn's work on the gut microbiome and the origin of hyper-flatulence."

Draco could admit that he wasn't the best liar. He could also admit that he'd owe his godfather greatly for going along with his charade. "Ah, when you're right, you're right, Uncle Severus," he said awkwardly. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, is three a crowd? I could just grab a taxi and let Father know I'll be home earlier than expected…" Or join Crabbe and Goyle in Penzance so he  wouldn't have to face his father's wrath for running off.

"Nonsense," his godfather said, waving away Draco's suggestion. "You may share the guestroom with Mr. Potter. Do note, however, that we rise early in order to get to the lab. And that your roommate may need to periodically go back to the university to add more reactant in a timely fashion."

Draco rather liked the idea of sharing a room with Harry. "I would be most amenable to that," he affirmed, and only a second later realized that he had never asked Harry his opinion. The boy was just standing there, looking lost. One moment, he was being chastised beyond reason by an irate Severus Snape, and the next moment, he was being assigned a roommate who, no doubt, had no idea how to be a proper roommate. Draco wouldn't want to room with himself either.

Draco looked firmly at Harry and made eye contact. "That is, if it's alright with you?"

Harry looked conflicted, but his gaze flickered only once to Severus before it landed on Draco. "Sure, Tom. That sounds great."

^,..,^

It was a strange sensation, to live with a person when you knew simultaneously so much about him and so little. Especially when the person didn't _know_ you knew so much. And even more especially when the person knew next to nothing at all about _you_.

How much would Draco accidentally let slip? What was he allowed to say about himself without giving up the ruse? _Should_ he just give up the ruse?

He was shaking his head in moral confusion when Harry unceremoniously dropped a pile of bedsheets on the floor. Draco honestly hoped Harry wasn't expecting him to sleep on the floor.

"Erm…" he started, staring at the pile.

Before Draco could really ask if floor-sleeping was expected of him, Harry had started stripping the bed. He was moving strangely, stiffly; he peeled the fitted sheet off of a corner and stumbled back when it came free. "I've gotten some clean bedsheets for you-"

Oh, so he was expecting Draco to take the bed? "Where will you sleep then?"

Harry shrugged and continued the chore of piling the old sheets and tucking in the new ones. "I'm somewhere between taking the couch and using a sleeping bag. I hardly sleep anyway."

Draco was horrified. "No! I wouldn't want to put you out of your bed!"

Harry laughed. "You're not really. That's what Snape- sorry, your uncle -and I were arguing about. I was spending my nights elsewhere, and he caught wind of it." He tossed the heavy duvet back on the bed.

"Oh," Draco said awkwardly. "He is a stickler for rules."

"Yeah. It was that, plus after the long weekend, I came back a little worse for the wear. He was definitely not happy about that."

Draco felt cold. He hadn't really noticed it earlier, but there was darker skin around his right cheekbone and left temple. He didn't know much about the natural progression of bruises, but they didn't look fresh.

"He was interrogating you about how it happened?" Draco asked. He also wanted to interrogate him about how it happened.

Harry snorted. "That and ranting about hooligans," he said dismissively.

Draco supposed his godfather _would_ rail against a person who would sneak out nightly and get into fights. This, coupled with all the negative evaluations for Harry Potter made him wonder if a day with the young man was enough to really get to know a guy's character. Maybe he really wasn't the saint in Draco's imagination.

He looked at Harry, noting the slump of his shoulders, his thinness, the threadbare knees of his trousers, just the boy's gestalt. What he saw was a pitiful guy. The Harry he remembered was tired and overworked, but this Harry had gained a few years, evidenced as bags under his eyes and wrinkles on his forehead. Had something changed over the summer?

"So how did filming go at the other locations?" Harry asked, redirecting the conversation.

Draco plopped onto the remade bed and leaned against the pillowed headboard. "Met a few people who really inspired me. Oh, there was a young lady in Burnley who tried to put me in my place, and we didn't quite hit it off, one might say. But of course, I only know these people for a day. What can you really know about a person after spending only a day with him?" he asked, looking Harry in the eye.

Harry didn't seem to notice how pointed the question was. He pulled a chair out from the desk and straddled it backwards so he could rest his crossed arms on the back of it. "I guess that's fair. Did you find anything you'd want to go into?"

Draco laughed. "I know what I _don't_ want to do." Harry grinned, and Draco kept going: "I don't want to answer phones, talk to customers, work in quality control or packaging or delivery, and I definitely do not want to work in sales."

Harry was smiling brightly as he said, "Well that about crosses everything off then. Time to become a hermit?"

"Oh yes, that or inherit my family's enormous fortune and live off of that."

That startled a laugh out of Harry, and Draco felt simultaneously smug about making the other boy laugh and embarrassed because the truth was so laughable.

"So Tom, you go do that, and call me up sometime so we can go golfing or fox-hunting."

Draco toed off his shoes and crossed his legs on the bed. "That's what you think rich people do in their spare time?"

Harry shook his head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I honestly have no idea how rich people have fun. Maybe it's the same stuff we do, but I can't imagine a rich person passing the time by staring at the ceiling or throwing rocks into a lake."

Draco actually had several memories of skipping flat stones across the pond behind the manor.

Harry continued thoughtfully, "Maybe they play football, watch the same television programmes. It's a funny thing, though, wondering how the other half lives."

For some reason, Draco didn't like the thought that they could be so different just based on money. "I'm sure we all have the same pastimes. Like rich people go to the zoo or museums, same as us. They eat out, go to the cinema?"

Harry was coloring a bit, and he ducked his head. "Depends, I suppose," he said equivocally.

"What, you're telling me normal people don't do those things? Or that the rich don't do those things?"

"No, I'm saying normal people and rich people might do all those things, but they see them differently." Harry looked up at Draco and could probably tell that he wasn't following. "I mean, seeing a film costs what, seven or eight pounds? So for a couple, that's at least fourteen pounds. Then drinks and snacks, so that's another ten at least. That's _twenty-four_ pounds to see a film that distracts you from the world for two hours, when you broke your back or argued with insane customers or distributors for _three hours_ to earn that twenty-four pounds. That is, assuming you make more than the national minimum wage. On the other hand, for someone earning forty pounds an hour, going to the cinema costs him half an hour of sitting on his bottom staring at a computer screen. Don't even get me started on the London Zoo, when it's almost twenty pounds just for one child."

Draco supposed this was maybe another thing he had to learn about the average person. He had never thought the cost of going to the cinema was prohibitive, and he'd never really stopped to consider what a film was costing him. "Cost-benefit analyses is something everyone does, at least subconsciously," Draco conceded, though he wasn't sure he believed himself. "Anyway, who would want to spend twenty pounds to see a bunch of sad animals in cages?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "When I was a kid, it seemed like the most exciting thing in the world."

"So _you_ went to the zoo!"

Harry shook his head and smiled at Draco as if he were a child just learning about the value of money. "No, it was too expensive."

" _Never?_ " Draco couldn't imagine having never seen animals in the zoo. It just seemed like a quintessential experience everyone ought to have in childhood, even though he had never been too enthused about it. "Your parents never took you?"

Harry looked conflicted for all of ten seconds before he shrugged. "They died when I was a year old."

Oh.

Draco felt like a right berk. He suddenly remembered riding in the van all those weeks ago with Harry and asking him _on camera_ if he lived with his parents. He thought the other man's reaction was strange at the time, and no wonder.

Well, if Harry was orphaned as a child, then he must have gone to relatives or an orphanage or a community house or foster care. Draco didn't actually know what happened to orphans in his country.

But he did know that Harry ended up with Vernon Dursley.

"Then who raised you?" Draco asked, ignoring the part of himself that said the question was incredibly rude.

"My aunt's family. Been living with them ever since."

 _Ah_.

"So-"

"Anyway, it's getting late. I'm going back to the lab, make sure that whatever's brewing is still going according to plan."

"Can't it wait till morning?"

Harry stretched, popping a couple joints in the process. "Every four hours. I'll probably just crash on the couch when I get back, so feel free…oh, I was going to tell you to feel free to take the bed, but I see you already have," he joked, smiling at Draco who had somehow already wrapped himself up in the duvet in the course of their conversation.

"I'll have you know, my blood runs cold!"

"I don't doubt it for a second," Harry said with a laugh, closing the door behind him.

^,..,^

Now, Severus had always known Draco to be a poor liar. This was made ever clearer to Severus as he watched his godson fumble through a lie about Lucius being a scientist of any rigor. No doubt, the boy would slip up in an hour and mention something else about his father, thence giving the game away completely.

However, to Severus' surprise, a short time later, Potter left to attend to their experiments, none the wiser. Apparently, his ability to sense the truth was as poor as Draco's ability to hide it.

Almost immediately, he had been beset by his fiery young godson telling tales of hardship and woe starring that Harry fellow he had met in Surrey- the Harry who was _apparently_ also Potter. What a troublesome coincidence. Despite Draco's streak of failed attempts to lie convincingly (at least, to Severus), his story was told with complete and utter sincerity even though the story was nigh impossible. Which meant, sadly, that Draco had been completely hoodwinked. Surely, if there was something wrong about this 'Harry,' it was because of his laziness and lack of work ethic. He had actually caught Potter asleep at the lab a couple times, which could have been disastrous to their experiments. His notebooks were full of chickenscratch and he was sure that if he ever tried to duplicate the steps as Potter recorded them, he'd end up with an unusable mush of destroyed enzyme.

Draco spun a long yarn about a poor, parentless child shoved into the arms of his cold relatives who put him to work as soon as they could. This defenseless child's boss was either his uncle or someone in cahoots with his relatives, and they rigged the system so that the young man had to work night and day for little pay and no benefits. Draco's tale ended with a most damning accusation at those relatives who, _god forbid_ , never even took him to the _zoo_. Shock and horror. Severus wondered where the young man's priorities were and what kind of television he had started watching for him to dream up a plot so maudlin.

Finally, after listening patiently for- Severus checked his watch -an hour and a half, he decided this foolishness was enough.

" _If_ all of that were true, then it would be disconcerting," Severus said, steepling his fingers. "But you must look at all of the facts with a critical eye." And consider that this was _Potter_ , they were talking about.

Draco rolled his eyes at that.

"What evidence do you have, and which of your accusations are mere speculations?" Severus started counting off on his fingers: "Firstly, you claim that Potter has been working since he was fourteen. Fact: children are allowed to work if they have permits. Secondly, he works more hours than is legal. I shall admit, perhaps _that_ is something worth investigating. Thirdly, he lives with a man who is both his uncle and boss. Tell me, how is that your concern?"

Draco sighed dramatically. "It's my concern because he's simply _awful_ , Uncle Severus! Didn't you hear a word I said about those dreadful Dursleys?" He had, but Severus knew his godson's imagination could run away with him. He was also prone to exaggeration. "Uncle Severus, I can't imagine any person would want to live _and_ work with that overinflated baboon!"

"Regardless, he is an adult, yes? Leave him to manage his own affairs." He'd rather his godson not get wrapped up whatever mess Potter had gotten himself into.

Draco's shoulders hunched in a way that reminded him of the boy at four years old, when he stubbornly decided he would not play with that Parkinson girl due to her overwhelming 'dreaded lurgi.' "Uncle _Severus_ ," he insisted petulantly, "they actually _recorded_ in the system that he worked more hours than was legal at basically every age! And even when he was working full-time hours, he received nothing he was owed, apart from wages. He wasn't even paid overtime!"

"Perhaps he was considered a freelancer."

"- _and_ he's been earning minimum wage since he started. He's a very good worker, don't you think he should have gotten a raise by now?"

"Judging by his work ethic, I am not surprised. Also, whether he is worthy of higher pay is not for _you_ to decide."

"Bullocks it is!"

"Language, Draco."

"Fuck your language!"

"Draco!"

Severus shot up in his chair, looming over his godson. Why was he get getting so worked up over this one person? _Potter_ of all people? Although it was refreshing to see the young man passionate about something other than the latest sportscar, why couldn't it have been something more worthwhile?

"The few things you've shared that are actually against the law- the hours, at the least, and perhaps his rights as a full-time worker -would have been disclosed and discovered. There would have to have been some extreme meddling in order to do all of this and keep it hidden, and for what? To make one young man miserable? What's the motivation, Draco?"

"Exactly!" Draco said, snapping his fingers. "Why would they do that?" The air pressure changed minutely and the house shifted strangely, but the pair were too riled up to notice.

Severus shook his head. " _They_? Who's this _'they'?_ What makes this boy _so special,_ that people would go through such trouble just to put him down? No, Potter is _not_ special. He is _not_ extraordinary. He's common, and you want to see something in him that's not there, though I've _no_ earthly idea why."

He knew his sobering words were not what Draco wanted to hear at the moment.

Draco sputtered indignantly. "You- you oh, what about the lack of work permit! Legally Grunnings can't hire anyone under sixteen unless there's a permit, and I saw no evidence of one. There, that's another law's been broken!"

"I didn't need the permit because I arranged it through my school."

Draco and Severus both froze, finally realizing that Potter was standing in the doorway.

"Professor Snape, you should consider putting a bell on your door, considering all the people taking you by surprise." Severus growled at him, but Potter merely dropped his ratty rucksack onto the ground and sat on the couch. He looked up at Draco. "For your information, I also chose to opt out of the 48-hour work week. It was holding me back."

Draco scowled. "That's a load of bullsh-"

"Language!"

"-shrubbish!"

Potter shrugged. "Grunnings hasn't done anything wrong."

"Harry, they can't treat you like that! What do they possibly have over you?"

Potter shrugged again, a most detestable gesture. "I was a greedy kid."

"There's your explanation, _Tom_ ," Severus said drily. "Frankly, I am more disturbed by how he wormed his way onto your programme _and_ my research team. Quite a talent for that: worming."

"It's not my doing, if that's what you're suggesting, Professor. It's really all due to Grunnings, isn't it? Tom showed up at my place of work. I only went to Exeter and this science program because of the Devon factory. And I wouldn't have the absolute _honor_ of working with you, Professor," Harry said sarcastically, "if Grunnings hadn't given my position away to someone else. So really, we can all thank that dumb company for this pleasant coincidence." He yanked his knapsack over one shoulder and pounded up the stairs, calling back, "I changed my mind! I'm taking the effing bed!"

Draco's face darkened. "I already claimed the bed!" And he ran up after Potter.

Severus thought he would leave them to it, because he'd had enough of this adolescent drama.

"No, you don't get to invade my personal life and then demand the bed!" he heard Potter shouting from the second floor.

"You _gave_ me the bed!"

"Surely Prince Tom has slept on a couch once in his life?"

"Just admit that I'm right, there's something fishy going on, and I'll let you have the bed!" Draco practically screamed.

This was utterly juvenile. Severus was growing irritated with the raised voices and started up the stairs.

"How'd you even find that stuff? What are you, a computer hacker? Have you been spying on me? Should I tell Ginny to worry too?"

Severus was now right beside the open door. He didn't usually make it a habit to eavesdrop on such conversations, but it wasn't as if they were trying to keep it private.

"Ginny? Ginny Weasley? Holy shite, _you're_ the boyfriend!"

"I can't believe you. All of that was an insane invasion of privacy."

"The- the production team found all that out," lied Draco, "because I wanted to bring you back at the end of the episode."

In a much calmer voice, Potter said, "oh." Severus heard the rustling of sheets and scraping of a chair on the old hardwood. "Then…I guess I ought to apologize."

"What?" said Draco, just as his godfather was thinking the same thing.

"I mean, you're just trying to look out for me, and here I am yelling at you. I'm sorry, it's just very personal. And I like my privacy."

"Ok," Draco conceded hesitantly. Severus was rather surprised at how easy that was. "Well, _I'm_ sorry I didn't bring my suspicions to you. I didn't mean it air it to Uncle Severus, I just knew he is a level-headed, fair-minded scholar. I thought he could help."

"He has difficulty being fair-minded when it comes to me, I think. Anyway, thanks for telling me the truth. It means a lot."

"Er, yeah."

Severus slinked away, concerned and confused. If this was how Potter reacted to a mere invasion of privacy, then he wondered how he would react once all of his deficiencies and misfortune were aired nationally. Not to mention, once Draco revealed his true identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend toward the melodramatic, so I hope this chapter wasn't too heavy. I hope you readers enjoyed the chapter! And please point out anything I might've missed or gotten wrong or if anything is confusing. I'm not super-confident in this chapter, but I liked it. And it gives you some more detail about the mysterious Harry Potter.


	7. Ginny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco takes Ginny and Harry out for some weekend fun and then has a heart-to-heart with his friend's girlfriend.

That fellow, Tom, was hanging around this weekend. Personally, Ginny had no quarrel with it, but she did think it a rather odd coincidence how he and Harry had run into each other so often. And especially that Harry was willing to hang out with him, considering how much Tom ran his mouth.

Although she had mostly enjoyed that one afternoon watching Tom fail at drill-sorting, she really didn't think the man would want to spend the weekend with them. He seemed more of the…drink mimosas poolside or spend an evening at the opera. And yet, he was the most excited of them for their little outing. He had even paid for their tickets.

"You'll love it!" crowed Tom, as he put the car into park. A car which apparently belonged to Harry's professor? The same one who hated him? And who was apparently acquainted with Tom, somehow. It still wasn't entirely clear to her. "Well, I've never been to this one, but still it's an experience everyone should have at some point." Nervously, he looked to Harry and then to Ginny. "Have you ever been to the zoo?"

Ginny took Harry's hand as she alighted from the vehicle. "We once had a company day at the smaller zoo. It was fun and we got to meet some other families," Ginny told him.

The car park was large, and they had quite a ways to walk before getting to the front gates. "Company day?" asked Tom.

Oh, this would be good for him to know for his television programme. "Yeah. Grunnings used to sponsor 'company days' for employees to take their families out to local attractions."

Tom frowned. "But they don't anymore?"

Harry piped up then. "The economy took a downturn. Haven't heard of a company day for maybe a decade."

"You've been with Grunnings that long?" Tom asked lightly.

Harry grew quiet. Ginny had been made aware that Tom basically knew everything about Harry working at two Grunnings sites. However, Harry said the other man didn't know that his boss was also his uncle. Harry always kept that under wraps since neither he nor Dursley wanted it known around the office that they were related, however obliquely.

"Not really," Harry said. He glanced at Ginny and shot her a nervous smile before telling Tom, "but my uncle works for the company, so I knew about it."

Harry missed it because he immediately broke eye contact, but _Ginny_ noticed it: Tom didn't look the least bit surprised.

"Oh, does he? The uncle you live with, or some other uncle?" Tom asked, the airiness of his voice too accentuated to be real. Tom was up to something.

Harry muttered some unintelligible words.

"Pardon, what?" Tom asked, still poorly feigning ignorance.

"The one I live with."

"Did I meet him?" asked Tom, who seemed to be trying to extract something from Harry. Something he already knew. Ginny would bet twenty quid that he knew about the Dursleys. Why he was dragging it out, she had no idea.

Harry made a face at Tom's question.

"For goodness sake," Ginny said, exasperated. "Do you know something, Tom?"

At that, Tom looked sheepishly at Harry and confessed, "Oh fine. When I discovered all that other stuff, I also saw your address and put two and two together." Harry looked affronted, but Tom continued: "I didn't know _how_ to tell you I knew about you living with those Dursleys. You know, after that argument, I was worried you'd be mad at me again. Regardless of how _little_ fault I held."

Unimpressed, Harry confirmed, "You were wheedling me to tell you, so that what?" 

"So that more things would be out in the open," Tom said simply. 

Ginny could respect that. It seemed Tom was a person of integrity and simply couldn't handle keeping such a secret.

"Well, I'm glad we're all on the same page now," Ginny said affirmatively, giving Harry a stern look. Hopefully there would be no room for confrontation. Harry, at least, seemed to simmer down. He used to have trouble controlling his anger, but he seemed to be getting better at it as the years passed. 

"And frankly, those Dursleys are the absolute worst," Tom said conclusively. Ginny herself had never met them, but she'd heard horror stories.

Harry smiled - it seemed all was forgiven - and looked over at Tom in consideration. "Yeah? What tipped you off?"

"Oh, what wouldn't? The entitlement! The utter self-aggrandizement of that beached whale was the most off-putting thing I have seen in an individual, ever. It's as if he washed onto shore to die and then bragged about how he'd been able to swim across the ocean and make it onto land, all by his own two flippers. Not to mention- no offense Harry, I know you said she is your mother's sister -his wife was unbearable! Now, my own mother is a housewife and takes pride in the running of our household, but that woman! How could anyone tolerate such a shrill, simpering snob? A fine comparison would be a madwoman who found the carcass of the aforementioned dying whale, and then announced to everyone that she had in her possession the best, most magnificent steed to ever gallop across the fields."

Ginny couldn't stop laughing. Although Harry certainly complained about his relatives, he never had such colorful descriptions. She could almost see the couple in her mind's eye now. "Oh, oh, do Dudley!" she begged. 

"Don't get me started on him!"

She very much hoped he would.

"No, I really couldn't. Because all he is, truly, is a malformed appendage of the beached whale! He has nothing of his own, no ambition or drive or characteristics."

Harry chuckled as well. "I wouldn't have used those words-"

"You're too nice, Potter."

The smile dropped immediately, but Harry recovered himself and added, "-but I do appreciate the colorful commentary."

Ginny wasn't sure what changed, but the air had shifted at some point, and all levity felt like it was put on hold. Thankfully, they were nearing the gate and Tom was busying flipping through papers in his black leather messenger bag. As they approached the ticket counter, he pulled out three sheafs of paper with bar codes on them.

The woman at the front gladly took the sheets and said, "Welcome! I hope you enjoy your visit! The zoo closes at sundown, so pick up your keister when it starts getting low, or you'll get locked in with the tigers who roam free every night!"

 ~<:<<<<<> 

The outing at the zoological park was a success, if Draco did say so himself. Harry enjoyed himself, and really, that was the whole point. They spent an inordinate amount of time at the reptile house, but Draco couldn't begrudge him that, especially when Harry confided that he used to have a pet garden snake who was more of a neighborly garden snake he would occasionally glimpse among the grass. They took so long in the dank, cold building that they only had minutes to spare in the bird habitat. However, that too caught Harry's attention. There was a great snowy owl who seemed to dominate the space and kept her eyes trained on Harry the entire time. She even ate from his palm, but snapped at anyone else who tried to get close. 

"Wish I could take her home. She's magnificent."

A wizened old man who was sitting on a nearby bench cleared his throat. "I'm afraid Hedwig- that's the owl you've taken a liking to -was injured as a young chick. She would have a difficult time in the wild, but does quite well with the right people." He blinked and grinned. "Oh, pardon me, my name's Newt!"

They spent the rest of the day listening to Newt's stories - that was his actual name, Draco discovered - about the zoo and the animals, and promised to visit at least once more before the summer holidays ended. Draco thought this was a rather successful outing indeed as he left the giftshop, twirling a white owl keychain around his index finger. He had spent a considerably longer time than the other two as he browsed through the shop, and eventually spotted Harry and Ginny just beyond the gate.

"-got into it with Professor Snape?" 

Ooh, they were having a conversation. Draco was once again put into the awkward situation of eavesdropping or interrupting a private conversation. Well, he did value Harry's trust, so… 

"Snape's too hard on him," Draco interrupted, announcing his presence. There. Now he couldn't be accused of listening in.

"Tom, you don't need to defend me," Harry said. He started walking toward the car, and addressing both Ginny and Draco, said, "I spent the weekend in Surrey. Got into a bit of a scuffle. Then I spent a few nights at the Weasleys' place. But I was always at the lab on time!" 

Draco snorted. " _I_ could've told you Severus wouldn't like that. No doubt, he feels responsible for you. And when you come back looking all beat up? And going missing in the night?" Draco clicked his tongue.

"Tom's right," Ginny said, taking the passenger seat.

Harry looked put out, and probably felt as though Draco and Ginny were ganging up on him.

Clearing his throat, Draco announced, "I'm simply famished."

"There's a good kebab place somewhere around here," Ginny suggested.

Draco wasn't a fan of kebabs, but he would put up with it. "Alright. It's on me," he offered as he turned the engine of Severus' reasonable black Peugeot. He let the owl keychain twirl twice more around his index finger, appreciating the perfect balance of the little white owl, before placing it gingerly into a pocket of his bag.

"I can cover the food," Harry offered, buckling his seat belt and slowly closing the door to the backseats.

Draco spared a glance at him and frowned. "You needn't. I have more than enough to cover a few kebabs," Draco said dismissively. He pulled out of the space and maneuvered the vehicle onto the road. With Ginny's direction, the shop was only a few minutes' drive, and they were parked soon enough in front of one of those hole-in-the-wall establishments that seemed more infested than exotic.

At the front counter, which was literally a large square hole in the building's wall, they ordered their food.

Draco pulled his credit card from his wallet, but before he could present it to the cashier, Harry had furnished his own card and told the man at the register, "That's for all three."

"Harry, no!" Draco rebuked him. "I told you-"

Suddenly, Ginny's hand was on his arm, and he was dragged to a picnic bench not far from the counter.

"Tom, you're very generous," she said haltingly, as if she were searching for just the right words, "but you're…a bit much. You don't need to pay for everything."

Draco huffed, tossing his things onto the table. "Harry works hard. He shouldn't have to pay for all our food when I can easily cover it."

Ginny shrugged and sat on the tabletop instead of a seat. "He's proud. As you are. Sometimes you just need to let a guy pay for his own stuff, solve his own problems."

"You speak from experience?" Draco considered the girl, following her gaze toward Harry. He looked very comfortable, chatting with the man at the register as he waited for their food.

"Harry thinks he can solve every problem on his own. It's a good trait sometimes," she trailed off, looking away from Harry and back at the table. Draco's gaze was still trained on Potter when he noticed that Ginny had been silent for a long while. When he looked back, her gaze was now trained solely on him.

"What?" he asked, suddenly uncomfortable with her piercing brown eyes.

She spared a quick look at Harry before thinning her lips and taking a proper seat at the picnic table. She stared hard at Draco, and when it was starting to feel like he'd go crazy, she nudged something toward him. It was his credit card.

"Draco…Malfoy, is it?"

He doubted it was possible for him to grow any paler. He snatched the card up along with his wallet and shoved the card in there, not caring for once if it was going to its proper place. He threw the wallet into his bag and sat himself directly across from Ginny.

"You can't tell him."

"I thought you looked familiar!" 

"You can't tell him," Draco insisted again. 

"The hell I can't!" she stage-whispered. The fact that she wasn't shouting was a good sign for him.

"You can't. Listen, you knew I was on a television show. It just happens to be Undercover Boss-"

"You're Draco flippin' Malfoy!" she said, furtively sneaking a look at Harry. He was still preoccupied with the cashier, though Draco couldn't imagine what kind of small talk could possibly occupy them so thoroughly.

"Yes," Draco acknowledged, hoping she would just move onto something else.

"What on earth are you doing, hanging around here? Shouldn't you be running the damned company?"  

"Technically, I'm not quite CEO yet." 

"Technically!" she exclaimed, taking a deep breath. "And what's all that with Harry's professor? Did you make that up too?"

"No, Severus is actually my godfather, believe it or not. That was just a happy coincidence."

"Happy coincidence," she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

"I'm telling you the truth. Now, promise me you won't tell Harry a thing-" 

"Tell me what?" Harry asked, suddenly appearing with a tray. There were three hot kebabs all wrapped up ready to be eaten.

Draco panicked. "Tell you, er, that I think you need a new haircut."

Harry placed the tray on the picnic table and frowned at Draco. Sighing, he took a seat at the table and leaned into Ginny. "Tell me what?" he repeated his question, half-jokingly and half-curiously.

Ginny laughed uncomfortably  and pushed him away. "Oh please, Harry. And you too, Tom. Just show it to him."

Draco froze. Was she really going to reveal his identity to Harry? In such a place, without any preparation or speech planned? What could he possibly say that would preserve their blossoming friendship?

"Oh fine, I'll show him!" Ginny said, snatching the leather bag and digging into it. Draco lunged for it, but Ginny was simply too quick. "Aha!"

Draco hung his head as she no doubt showed Harry everything. He couldn't bear to look up, to see Harry's accusatory face…

"Tom," Harry said, sounding quite breathless. Draco had to do it. He had to fess up.

Steeling himself, Draco lifted his head, only to find himself pulled into a rough half-embrace. "I love it! Was it because Ginny told you my birthday recently passed?"

Draco was beyond confused.

He pulled back to see that Harry was cradling the little white owl keychain in his hands. "I know it's just a keychain, but I'm calling her Hedwig."

Draco was too baffled to say anything more, but he did make eye contact with Ginny who was enjoying his panic just a little too much. She was a downright fiend, she was.

 ,       ,  
(QvQ)  
( (     ) )  
-"---"-

Was Ginny surprised that Tom was actually the heir to the Malfoy dynasty? Yes, incredibly surprised. Was it unbelievable? Well...yes and no. It was almost beyond the realm of possibility that she would ever meet the son of a billionaire. However, Tom had never been all that convincing as a recent graduate down on his luck. It wasn't because he was too arrogant or too posh (although, he was both of those things); no, he wasn't convincing because he was altogether too confident. A clever man who had screwed up as many times as Tom had, but didn't take a giant strike to his ego? Where could such a man come from?

Ginny found herself dwelling on Tom - Draco, to be entirely correct - for the entire day. She couldn't focus on the characters on the silver screen at the cinema, she couldn't even focus while they were skipping rocks on the lake at school. Her pebbles kept sinking unceremoniously, but Harry's and Tom's seemed to bounce forever into the distance. The whole rest of the day, through the movie, dinner, ice cream, and then at Exeter, she wondered what she would say to him once Harry was absent. She didn't get another moment to talk with Draco, just the two of them, until now. 

They were out of pebbles, and Harry had to pop into the lab one more time to see to his experiments, whatever they were. "I'll be quick!" he promised, pecking her on the cheek.

"Take your time!" she said, watching as he disappeared over a low hill, jogging all the while in the summer heat.

Ginny lowered herself onto the grass and folded her arms behind her head. The sun was setting quite beautifully against the symphony of crickets coming out to play. It would all have been very peaceful if Draco Malfoy weren't sitting right next to her.

"Why did you want to come here so badly?" she finally broke the silence.

"Whatever do you mean?" he played dumb.

Ginny turned on her side, propping her head up. Irritated, she said, "You were the one who suggested we go to Exeter to close out the night."

Tom - Draco - gave a minute shrug and seemed to fold into himself. "I just knew Harry had to go back to the lab. Figured this was convenient."

Ginny gave a short laugh. "If you were looking for convenience, then skipping rocks wouldn't have been on your itinerary." The pond wasn't collocated with the lab; it was a significant walk to and from. Now, she didn't expect Tom to know that since he wasn't a student here, but if he hadn't been so dead-set on the lake, then they could have just parked the car by the biosciences building and saved Harry the trek.

"I'm rather good at skipping rocks," he said in what seemed to be a complete non sequitur. He glanced at her and then looked back at the reflection of the university buildings in the shimmering lake. "Just wanted Harry to know that."

Ginny didn't say anything, but continued to stare at him. Under the weight of her gaze, Tom cleared his throat and said, "Yeah. Even as a kid at the manor, I've always been pretty good at skipping rocks. Just wanted him to know, even rich kids spent some time throwing rocks into the water."

"I'm impressed." Draco gave her a confused frown. "I thought you'd let this charade go on forever," she told him honestly. And she would have gone along with it for as long as it took for Draco Malfoy to tire of the game and leave. Anything to preserve Harry's happiness.

"I couldn't,"  Tom said. "He would have to know who I am sooner or later, if I wanted to make any sort of difference in his life."

Ginny could have scoffed. "You really think you're all that? We normal people go about our daily lives, hoping to make a tiny ripple. Maybe contribute to society a bit, have some kids and raise them well. And here you are, thinking you can rescue him."

"But what if I can? What if I could really help him?" Draco asked, sounding desperate.

"Help him?" 

"I mean, I'll be honest. I don't even know _how_  to help him. I thought, what if I paid for his schooling? What if I gave him a tailored position at the company? What if I sent him off on a grand holiday, far away so he could get out from under the heel of those awful Dursleys?" Ginny knew those were all temporizing solutions. An ointment instead of the removal of the gangrenous limb. None of those would solve his problems.  

Ginny considered her options. Draco, as strange and out-of-touch as he was at times, seemed like a fundamentally good person.

He continued his frustrated tirade: "And when I laid out the evidence, Severus could explain everything away. The hours, the work permit. And Harry himself said he was a 'greedy kid,' as if that could explain why he's been overworked for the past decade. I must be missing something, but Harry would never tell me." 

"You really want to help him," Ginny said slowly, warming to the realization that Draco, for all his bluster and pomp, was genuinely trying to be a kind person.

"Yes, but I've no idea _how._ "

Ginny hoped she wasn't betraying Harry's trust. "Well, I'll tell you." 

 


End file.
